《Born from the wish of a dying god》


 Chapter 1: reincarnation

    On a distant planet in an unnamed galaxy, a massive portal swung open, unleashing huge waves of energy that distorted the reality around it.


    From that portal emerged a tall, horned figure with skin as dark as coal and wounds that testified to fierce battles fought in some past time. It fell at great speed, almost like a meteor descending upon that world.


    Its impact caused an explosion that formed a crater several meters in diameter, enveloping its form in dust and earth, hiding its features from plain sight.


    The figure lay unconscious on the ground for a long time until it finally awoke, confused by what had happened. It examined its body, riddled with wounds, some so deep that they exposed bones, and noticed with curiosity a type of knife lodged in its neck.


    Upon inspecting it cautiously, it was alarmed to recognize the material it was made of.


    "Where did that bastard get pure Ethyminium?" it wondered.


    It felt a strange sensation in its body and, upon examining it closely, discovered that it was gradually beginning to fade. It knelt down and, like a wild animal, began to tear its own flesh with its hands.


    Although its skin was resilient, its strength was greater, and soon enough, it exposed its entrails. It struck the ground with both hands, forming another crater large enough to contain it.


    With its organs exposed, it extracted them one by one, starting with the heart, followed by the lungs and pancreas.


    The knife''s effect was nearly complete, half of its body had disappeared, but one last task remained: to infuse its essence into the pile of organs placed in the crater.


    It placed its hands around the edge, observing the organs before opening its mouth and releasing a red cloud that dispersed through the crater and its surroundings.


    The knife''s effect was almost finished, only its neck and head remained. With one last scream, it cursed the universe, a lament that echoed through the cosmos and vanished from existence.


    Now all that remained was the bizarre combination of organs in the crater alongside the red cloud that the creature had released, but as if orchestrated by some twisted mind, they began to merge in twisted ways.


    The wet sound of the organs moving created a bizarre symphony in combination with the surroundings, forming a mass that gradually took on a specific shape: a humanoid figure.


    This figure adopted the appearance of a baby, with skin as dark as the previous figure, eyes as red as rubies, and prominent horns. It cried and kicked like any common baby.


    In the distance, a soft melody resonated, a voice sweet as honey accompanied by a muscular man pulling a cart loaded with many things. Both appeared humanoid, almost human, but distinguished by a pale skin tone and more subtle horns, depending on the gender.


    The woman continued singing a song that evoked images of their world:


    ? The green valleys of Aldheran are so beautiful that, seen from afar, one might believe they''re in heaven itself. Its people are lovely, and its children adorable, but most importantly, it is the best place to start a family. ?


    "Wow, I wonder why you''re so happy today," said the man.


    "Today marks thirty years of marriage, we''ve already collected fruits and vegetables for my special broth. How could I not be happy?" the woman responded energetically.


    The woman turned upon hearing a peculiar sound, the cry of a baby. She looked towards the origin of the sound and spoke to her husband:


    "I think we should go over there," she pointed towards the crater.


    "Why? It could be bandits or some trap. Besides, look at that crater over there, that wasn''t there before," the man questioned.


    "Are you scared? Where is my old champion? I thought you were never afraid," she teased.


    "Well, we''ll see your face when I tell you I warned you," he said as he began walking towards the crater.


    The woman followed the man slowly, protecting herself just in case. The crater was surrounded by a dense forest, offering additional cover against potential threats.


    "I hear the cries closer," said the woman.


    "Me too," replied the man.


    The couple found themselves around the crater, looking inside. They found a large trail of blood and signs of massive destruction, but what interested them most was the small crater formed by that figure.


    "That''s where the cries are coming from," the woman pointed towards the small crater.


    "Stay here, I''ll see what it is," said the man.


    "Be careful, love," said the woman, watching as her husband descended into the crater.


    The husband reached the bottom of the crater, inspecting his surroundings for dangers. He slowly approached the small crater and looked around.


    "I don''t hear the crying anymore," he murmured to himself.


    Slowly, he approached until he saw what lay inside the crater: a very peculiar baby. Its skin was a deep black, its eyes red like embers, and most surprisingly, it had horns as large as an adult''s despite being a newborn.


    The man looked back and signaled to his wife to join him. She obeyed, walking to his side and being surprised to see the baby.


    "A baby!" she exclaimed with joy, taking the child in her arms.


    "Wait," the husband intervened with concern.


    "What is it? Why are you so worried?" she asked.


    "Don''t you see? It''s so different from us. It''s not that I''m questioning its origin, but doesn''t it seem strange to find it in a small crater within a much larger one?" he inquired.


    "So what? It''s just an abandoned baby. We don''t know what happened for it to get here. Besides, look at its beautiful eyes," she replied, bringing the baby closer to her husband''s eyes.


    The man stared into the baby''s eyes, feeling a wave of concern and fear that almost triggered anxiety. He quickly looked away.


    "Please, don''t show it to me anymore," he pleaded.


    "Okay, I''m sorry," the woman apologized.


    She began to rock the baby as if it were her own, until the little one fell asleep in her arms.


    "We should take it home," she suggested.


    "Are you crazy? The elders would punish us for bringing that... that thing to the village," he protested.


    "It''s not a thing, it''s a child that needs care. Besides, we''ve been together for over thirty years and still have no children. Even Kranitan has more than twenty children, and we have none?" the woman said with sadness in her voice.


    The man noticed the subdued tone in his wife''s voice and struggled in his mind with the multiple decisions before him. Finally, he made the best decision for that moment.


    "Alright, we''ll take it, but you have to hide it very well," he said.


    "Yes!" exclaimed his wife with joy, jumping up and down.


    The man walked towards one side of the crater, with his wife following behind him along with the baby, skipping slightly due to the decision he had made. They stopped at what seemed to be the end of the crater, a wall rising several meters high, blocking the way up.


    ¡°What do we do now?¡± asked the wife, worried.


    ¡°Hold on tightly to the baby,¡± the man replied.


    ¡°Why?¡± she asked again.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to throw you up.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡­¡±


    Her protest was cut short as she felt her husband¡¯s large hand on her back. With great care, he tossed her up to the edge of the crater, causing her to land on her rear and cushion the fall.


    ¡°That hurt!¡± she exclaimed angrily.


    The woman walked to the edge of the crater and looked down at him.


    ¡°How do you plan to get up now?¡± she questioned, concerned.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see,¡± the man said.


    Her husband placed his hands on the crater wall, gripping the hard rock and beginning to climb as if it were the easiest thing in the world. The wall cracked as he climbed until he reached where his wife was.


    ¡°See? That easy,¡± the man said sarcastically.


    ¡°Like the old days,¡± the woman added.


    The baby seemed to have woken up, squirming frantically as if trying to escape, but the woman held it firmly.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with him?¡± the man asked, worried.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, maybe it¡¯s the heat,¡± his wife responded, uncertain.


    The baby opened its eyes, showing a vibrant red color, then opened its mouth and let out a macabre wail that echoed loudly everywhere.


    ¡°By Azhamat, what is that sound?¡± the wife asked, covering her ears with her hands.


    ¡°Make it stop!¡± the husband exclaimed, also covering his ears.


    The woman placed her hand over the baby¡¯s mouth, and it grabbed her thumb, put it in its mouth, and began sucking on it, calming down and falling asleep again.


    ¡°I think he¡¯s hungry,¡± the woman said.


    ¡°Yes, hungry for souls,¡± the husband added sarcastically.


    A roar in the distance left them paralyzed, like statues, waiting to discern whether it was a coincidence or if something truly dangerous was approaching.


    ¡°Is that the roar of a Mhonktan?¡± the woman asked, her voice filled with fear.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°It seems so,¡± the husband replied.


    The roar sounded closer, indicating the creature was heading their way. The ground trembled, and trees fell in its path.


    ¡°Run, go to the carriage as fast as you can!¡± ordered the man.


    ¡°But what about you?¡± the woman asked, worried.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t the former Shamonak champion for nothing. I¡¯ll be fine. What concerns me are you and the baby,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Alright,¡± the woman said, seeing the creature making its way through the forest, and ran towards the carriage.


    The man crouched, waiting for the creature that advanced like a force of nature. Finally, he saw the beast¡¯s eyes among the bushes.


    They were golden and bright, easily distinguishable among the foliage. The creature emerged from the bushes, imposing.


    It was gigantic, five meters tall and three wide. Its legs were as robust as tree trunks, and its back looked like a mountain. Its white fur contrasted with its large horns and its six golden eyes.


    ¡°Well, it seems I¡¯ve hit the jackpot. It¡¯s an ancient one,¡± the man murmured to himself, standing up.


    The beast moved towards him, and he did the same. Both moved in circles, studying each other in a game of advantage and weakness until they stopped and charged at each other.


    Meanwhile, the woman was at the carriage, rocking the baby and waiting for her husband¡¯s return. She heard the crashing of falling trees and roars of pain.


    ¡°By Azhamat, will he be alright? I don¡¯t doubt him, but it¡¯s a Mhonktan. Those beasts can destroy an entire mountain,¡± she murmured to herself.


    The sounds of battle ceased, giving way to a tense silence. Heavy footsteps approached her. She hurried to the carriage, placing the baby in a basket and drawing a large sword with a fearsome edge.


    The footsteps grew closer, and the forest seemed to rumble with each movement. Suddenly, her husband appeared, carrying the Mhonktan¡¯s corpse on his back.


    ¡°How about a big Mhonktan steak for tonight, dear?¡± the husband asked, with a triumphant smile.


    ¡°I knew you could handle that creature,¡± the woman said, running towards him.


    She hugged him tightly, and he groaned in pain, dropping the corpse.


    ¡°What happened to you?¡± the woman asked, concerned.


    ¡°That beast managed to claw me in the chest,¡± he replied, showing his wound.


    ¡°Oh no, we need to get to the village quickly to treat your wounds,¡± the woman said, showing even more concern.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, just let me load the Mhonktan onto the carriage,¡± the man said, bending down to lift the beast¡¯s corpse.


    The husband mounted the beast on the carriage and heard the baby start crying again, although this time it was a soft, normal cry.


    ¡°I almost forgot it was here,¡± the wife lamented, taking the baby out of the basket and holding it in her arms.


    The man grabbed the carriage with his powerful hands and began to drag it easily along the ground, making it seem effortless despite carrying the weight of the gigantic creature and his wife inside.


    ¡°Don¡¯t overexert yourself, dear. Remember, you¡¯re injured,¡± the woman warned as she rocked the baby.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s only seven kilometers to go,¡± the man replied.


    The husband advanced slowly but steadily, spotting a settlement with several houses and structures in the distance.


    ¡°Look, we¡¯re almost there,¡± his wife pointed out.


    ¡°I see it,¡± her husband confirmed.


    They reached the settlement, which was sizable and surrounded by a large wall of stone and wood. The only entrance was guarded by armed guards.


    The man dragged the carriage towards the guards, who approached to examine it.


    ¡°Well, it seems you faced some creature, didn¡¯t you, Tawnylon?¡± one of the guards asked, recalling his name.


    ¡°Yes, just look at the carriage, Zyten,¡± Tawnylon replied, pointing with his thumb at the vehicle.


    Zyten approached the carriage, observing Tawnylon''s wife sitting in the vehicle, holding something covered in blankets in her arms.


    "Hello, Aolani. What do you have in your arms?" Zyten asked curiously.


    "It''s just a wounded nanthon we found on the way," Aolani replied.


    "I see," Zyten said, circling the carriage.


    At the back of the vehicle, Zyten found the dead Mhonktan. His eyes met those of the guard, and although the animal was lifeless, he felt as if it were staring deeply at him.


    "It seems it was true. Let them pass," Zyten said, signaling to the other guards.


    "Thank you very much, Zyten," Tawnylon thanked.


    Tawnylon grabbed the carriage and dragged it into the town, while Aolani held the baby firmly to hide it from view.


    Inside the town, everything seemed different. People walked around calmly, and there was a prosperous and peaceful atmosphere. The houses were built with robust materials like wood and stone, providing resistance to possible natural threats.


    Other people greeted Tawnylon and Aolani kindly, who responded politely until they spotted their beloved home in the distance.


    "Look at it, it''s been days since we''ve seen our home," Aolani commented nostalgically.


    "Yes, I can''t wait to lie down in bed and sleep deeply," Tawnylon added.


    The couple arrived home, and Tawnylon parked the carriage in the back. Aolani began taking out the small items from the vehicle while Tawnylon handled the heavier ones.


    "Take this inside," Tawnylon instructed, handing a bag to Aolani.


    Aolani took the bag and entered the house, while Tawnylon took out the Mhonktan''s corpse and dragged it to a small cabin behind the house. He left the body in front of the door and returned with a large axe.


    "With this, we''ll have enough to eat for several months," Tawnylon said enthusiastically.


    Meanwhile, inside the house, Aolani was sitting in a rocking chair with the baby in her arms, looking out the window.


    "I wonder where you came from," Aolani murmured to the baby, as if expecting an answer.


    The baby raised its hands and made small joyful sounds, like any normal baby, despite its peculiar appearance.


    The back door was heard opening, and Aolani looked in that direction, seeing her husband, covered in blood from head to toe, carrying a large bag on his back.


    "Prepare the asbhentum rocks, we have enough meat to last six months," Tawnylon said.


    ¡°Right away,¡± Aolani replied, placing the baby in a safe and comfortable spot.


    Tawnylon headed toward a well in the center of the house, took the bag, and began pouring the meat into it. Once finished, he sat at the main table of the house.


    Meanwhile, Aolani brought a bucket emitting a cold smoke and approached the well, pouring its contents. The bucket contained stones with a blue luminous glow that, upon contact with the meat, caused a reaction that froze everything around them, creating an effective preservation and cooling system.


    ¡°Bring me some water, love,¡± Tawnylon ordered.


    Aolani obeyed and went to a large bucket in what seemed to be a rustic kitchen. She took a ladle made of an unknown material and dipped it into the bucket, pouring its contents into a wooden jug.


    ¡°Here you go, dear,¡± Aolani said, handing him the jug.


    Tawnylon took the jug and drank it in one gulp, then placed it on the table with a loud burp.


    ¡°Water tastes so good after several days without drinking it,¡± he exclaimed joyfully.


    Aolani smiled at him, but her eyes focused on the wound he had.


    ¡°Take off your clothes; I have to treat that wound as soon as possible,¡± Aolani said worriedly.


    ¡°It will heal on its own, don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Tawnylon protested.


    ¡°Come on, surely that creature had dirty claws full of bacteria. Don¡¯t be stubborn, let me treat it,¡± Aolani refuted with an annoyed tone.


    ¡°All right, whatever the lady says,¡± Tawnylon responded sarcastically, taking off his clothes.


    Tawnylon was left in only his pants, revealing several scars and tattoos suggesting a mysterious past.


    ¡°Do your thing, dear,¡± Tawnylon said, looking her in the eyes.


    Aolani rolled up her sleeves and flexed her fingers. A phosphorescent blue light began to emanate from them, almost blinding.


    ¡°Don¡¯t strain yourself too much; you don¡¯t have the same power as before,¡± Tawnylon warned, concerned for his wife.


    ¡°Do you doubt the best healer on this planet?¡± Aolani asked challengingly, her voice strained.


    The light covered Tawnylon¡¯s wound like a celestial mantle, and it began to heal on its own, although it was evident that it was costing Aolani a great effort.


    ¡°Just a little more,¡± she said, her voice weary.


    Tawnylon watched with shining eyes as his wife used everything at her disposal to heal him until he noticed her skin reddening. Worried about her, he took her hands.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough, you¡¯re straining yourself too much,¡± he said, concerned.


    ¡°Sorry, I just wanted you to heal quickly,¡± she responded, panting.


    ¡°Better go upstairs to rest; I¡¯ll take care of the baby and the other things,¡± Tawnylon ordered.


    ¡°All right, take care of him,¡± Aolani said, getting up from her seat and heading upstairs.


    A door was heard opening and closing at the same time, confirming to Tawnylon that his wife was in the room resting. He sighed deeply and looked at the ceiling before getting up and heading to the kitchen in search of something.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s see if I have some yamanto milk,¡± he said.


    The baby began to cry again, but Tawnylon listened to it gently and normally, hurrying to find the precious liquid. He found it on a shelf, bottled in a small rubber jar.


    ¡°Here it is, calm down, I¡¯m coming,¡± Tawnylon said, trying to soothe the baby.


    He walked toward the baby while shaking the milk jar, took it gently, and began to rock it as Aolani did. He uncapped the jar and tried to give it to the baby, but the baby struggled not to take it.


    ¡°Why doesn¡¯t it want milk? Zyten does it like this with his babies,¡± he wondered aloud.


    The baby continued struggling not to take the liquid until it grabbed it forcefully and threw it to the side.


    ¡°Hey! That milk was very special,¡± Tawnylon exclaimed, a bit annoyed.


    Hearing the tone of Tawnylon¡¯s voice, the baby began to cry frantically, writhing wildly.


    ¡°All right, all right, let¡¯s get you something else to eat,¡± Tawnylon said, trying to calm it.


    He headed to the kitchen and searched another shelf with a variety of food, from crops to meat.


    ¡°Do you want this?¡± he asked, showing what seemed to be a vegetable with several leaves and a purple center.


    The baby continued to squirm, showing displeasure at the sight of the vegetable. Desperate, Tawnylon grabbed a piece of raw meat and showed it to him.


    ¡°This? Is this what you want?¡± he asked.


    The baby¡¯s red eyes lit up widely, and with a quick movement, he grabbed the piece of meat and began to chew it ferociously, as if he hadn¡¯t eaten in months.


    ¡°Wait, that meat is raw; you can¡¯t eat it like that,¡± Tawnylon said, trying to take the meat away from the baby.


    But the baby devoured the meat without leaving a trace, then closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep, while Tawnylon watched in disbelief.


    Without saying a word, Tawnylon climbed the stairs to the upper floor of their house and reached the master bedroom, where Aolani was resting.


    ¡°Hello, love,¡± Aolani whispered, lying in bed and watching Tawnylon with the baby in his arms.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Tawnylon replied, in a tired tone.


    He placed the baby on the bed next to Aolani, who snuggled him while Tawnylon began to undress completely.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll take a shower; this blood is starting to smell bad,¡± Tawnylon said, looking at his body.


    ¡°I heated some water for you; I knew you would want to shower,¡± Aolani said tenderly.


    ¡°You always know what I want, darling,¡± Tawnylon responded.


    Tawnylon went to the bathroom and found a large tub filled with hot water, with pieces of flowers and plants around it, emitting a captivating and refreshing aroma.


    ¡°Chamanth flowers, we must have picked them up along the way,¡± he thought.


    He inhaled the scent of the bath before sinking into the tub, enjoying the simple pleasure of a bath. He closed his eyes and spread his arms on the edges of the tub.


    ¡°I deserved this,¡± he said to himself.


    Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching from the bedroom to the bathroom. He opened his eyes and saw his wife, completely naked and covered only with a towel.


    ¡°Is there room for one more?¡± she asked, looking at him intently.


    ¡°There always is,¡± he said.


    Aolani dropped her towel, revealing her body in its full splendor. Tawnylon was surprised and pulled his legs up to make room for his wife. Aolani entered the tub and sat facing Tawnylon.


    ¡°The water feels wonderful,¡± Tawnylon said.


    ¡°Yes, I added those special herbs we were given along the way,¡± his wife replied.


    ¡°I knew it was a good idea to help that small village get water again.¡±


    ¡°Their faces of happiness when you destroyed that giant rock blocking the river were incomparable,¡± Aolani commented, stroking Tawnylon¡¯s cheek.


    The two gazed at each other for a moment, exchanging thoughts and feelings, until Aolani decided to take a bold move and positioned herself behind Tawnylon, letting herself rest on his chest.


    ¡°You know, I appreciate you agreeing to adopt that baby,¡± Aolani said, looking up at his chin.


    ¡°I still can¡¯t process it. It¡¯s our first time with a baby, and we know almost nothing about how to care for one,¡± Tawnylon replied, visible concern on his face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry; we could talk to Maharta about how to take care of him. If I remember correctly, she had more than thirty babies when she was young,¡± Aolani said with a tone of excitement.


    ¡°Yes, but we have to be subtle so they don¡¯t suspect us,¡± Tawnylon added.


    ¡°Speaking of which, we haven¡¯t named him. Do you have any suggestions?¡± Aolani asked.


    Several names, important and popular among the people of his planet, passed through Tawnylon¡¯s mind. However, there was one that stood out, resonating peculiarly in his mind, until it came from his lips:


    ¡°Thamuz.¡±

 Chapter 2: adaptation

    A group of kids was fighting under a tree, playing by throwing punches and kicks while tightly grabbing each other''s shoulders.


    "I''ll be the new champion of Shamonak," said one of the fighting kids.


    "No! I''m going to be it!" exclaimed the other kid.


    The blows they gave each other were brutal and charged with tremendous force, their faces were flushed from the different impacts they were inflicting, until a third kid separated them.


    "Stop, stop already, you''ve reached your limit!" he said.


    "I''m going to knock that damned one unconscious, I swear by my mother," yelled the kid with fewer injuries.


    "Try to touch me again and I''ll rip your neck out," responded the more injured kid.


    The third kid stood looking ahead, he observed a large house that had an opening underneath it, and in that opening two bright red eyes could be seen.


    "Look at that, guys, it''s a demon!" he said, trembling.


    The two boys turned to see the place the third boy was pointing at, the eyes shone more intensely and slowly two large horns began to emerge.


    "A demon!" they all screamed, running away terrified.


    The creature submerged back into the darkness, now sitting, looking at its hands and trying to understand why they ran from it, until the sound of a door knocking was heard.


    "Thamuz? Are you there?" asked a female voice.


    "Yes, I''m here," the creature responded.


    "Did you try to go outside? I heard some kids screaming ''demon!''" the female voice asked again.


    "I just wanted to see how they were fighting," Thamuz replied.


    "You know you can''t go out, not until the elders accept you."


    "I know, but this solitude is boring me. I only had a little Rathmun as a pet, but it died after seven hours," said Thamuz, with a tone of sadness in his voice.


    The female voice stopped talking and silence reigned, until she spoke again:


    "You know, to cheer you up, I made your favorite food, roasted Mhonktan."


    "Really?" Thamuz said joyfully, "I''m coming right away."


    "Hurry up, you know when it comes to Mhonktan, your father is a wild beast when it comes to eating," ordered the female voice.


    Thamuz got up from where he was and ran quickly to reach the stairs leading to the main room of the house. He opened the door and walked slowly, observing how large plates of food were piled on the dining table.


    "Well, it seemed strange not to have seen you all day," said Tawnylon, seated at one of the table chairs.


    "I was in the basement, watching the kids pass by," Thamuz replied.


    "Well, we just have to wait for the elders'' acceptance and you''ll be able to go out as much as you want," said Tawnylon, taking out a large piece of meat from a plate and starting to chew it.


    "I hope so, it makes me nervous to see Thamuz always alone, with no one to play with or spend time with," commented Aolani, bringing more plates to the table.


    Thamuz also grabbed a large piece of meat and began to eat it ferociously, finishing in just a few seconds and taking another piece of meat.


    "It seems you haven''t had breakfast, son," Tawnylon observed, surprised by Thamuz''s gluttony.


    "No, I really haven''t. I wasn''t hungry when I woke up," said Thamuz, setting the piece of meat aside.


    "Why? Did you have a nightmare?" Aolani asked worriedly from the kitchen.


    "Something like that. It was really a shapeless nightmare," Thamuz replied, with a downcast gaze.


    "Come on, tell your mother about it. She surely knows what it could mean," Tawnylon encouraged, not taking his eyes off the table.


    Aolani approached with the last plate of food that was in the kitchen and sat next to Thamuz, serving him a little more food on his plate and serving herself.


    "So, what is this strange dream you had?" she asked.


    Thamuz raised his gaze, meeting his mother''s eyes, and began to speak.


    "I was in a small boat, in the middle of nowhere. There was only a sea of loneliness, plagued by whispers coming from some unknown place. I was huddled in one of the corners of the boat, protecting myself from the strong tides, until I heard something calling me, calling my name, Thamuz. Out of curiosity I looked outside the boat and found myself with a figure floating in the water. Its skin was a blue-black color and it had three grayish eyes. Its hands were large like claws and its mouth extended with tentacles of different sizes, but it only said one phrase, one phrase that terrified me."


    "What was it?" Aolani asked, visibly afraid.


    "''You killed me,''" Thamuz said in a grave voice.


    Tawnylon stopped eating and stared intently at Thamuz, pushing his food aside and looking him in the eyes.


    "Did that figure have any special mark? Especially on the shoulder," Tawnylon asked.


    "Yes, it had a circle with a dot in the middle and two horizontal lines," Thamuz replied.


    "Apparently, you dreamed of Azhamat, how curious," said Tawnylon, rubbing his chin.


    "Azhamat? Who is Azhamat?" Thamuz asked, confused.


    "He is the creator god of our world, bringer of goods and prosperity, the last of a special lineage of gods," Aolani explained enthusiastically.


    "A god? What is a god?" Thamuz asked again.


    "It is one who does nothing," Tawnylon responded, looking at the ceiling.


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    Aolani turned her head to look at Tawnylon, furrowing her brows in a gesture of rage, and Tawnylon shrugged looking away.


    "Don''t pay him any attention. A god is one who helps his creation and closely observes its prosperity, judging the process," Aolani explained, caressing Thamuz''s head.


    "All that is what a god does? Sounds fun. When I''m older, I want to be a god," Thamuz said joyfully.


    "When you''re older? You almost reach up to my chest. You''ve outgrown your mother in height," Tawnylon added sarcastically.


    "It''s true, even being only six years old, you''re bigger than most kids," Aolani added.


    "Way bigger," Thamuz added.


    "Well, I''m full. Rest for today, son. Tomorrow we''ll have to go to the elders to have them give you the test," said Tawnylon, rubbing his belly and getting up from his seat.


    "I think I''m done too. The food was delicious, mother," said Thamuz, giving Aolani a kiss on the forehead.


    Aolani smiled, caressing Thamuz''s hair, and began gathering the plates.


    Thamuz returned to the basement where he had been before, went down the stairs and sat in a dark corner. Although he had a room for himself, he preferred cramped and solitary spaces. He raised his hands to his face and contemplated his strangeness: his hands were large and looked like claws, his body was toned and large, his horns were big, as big as an adult''s, and his hair was coarse and hard.


    "Why do I have this appearance? Can''t I be like a normal child?" he asked himself.


    Then, an idea crossed his mind.


    "I''ve seen that many people go to a small temple and start singing that god''s name. Maybe if I go there, I can ask him to turn me into a normal child."


    But his body was failing him. The amount of food he ingested upstairs could put any creature to sleep in seconds, but it only took Thamuz a few minutes to fall into a deep sleep.


    What seemed like hours and hours of sleep could have passed, but Thamuz didn''t wake up, until a drop of water fell on his head.


    The coldness of the water made him jolt, opening his eyes quickly and looking at where the water drops were coming from: from above, right in the bathroom. Two voices could be heard in that bathroom, a female and a male one.


    "Don''t be so aggressive with me, my pelvis still hurts from that night," said the male voice.


    "Don''t be a crybaby, it was just a few bounces," said the female voice.


    Thamuz listened closely to what they were saying, expressing some disgust and sticking his tongue out.


    "They''re definitely doing that again. Father always ends up screaming, though this is a good opportunity to go to the temple and ask for that little miracle."


    Thamuz walked to the small opening he always frequented and, with his physical build, he was able to easily pass through it. Now outside his house, he was able to see a good view of the sky for the first time, surrounded by stars and different luminous celestial bodies, along with other nearby planets.


    "It''s beautiful," he said.


    But his attention was focused on that small temple that people always frequented on a specific day of the week. He began to walk and looked around at the different houses that formed the settlement.


    "That''s the Rhaman''s house, that''s the Huyhot''s," he said as he pointed with his fingers at the houses.


    He was close to that temple now, observing how a torch illuminated its entrance. He stood in front of it and, with a gentle hand motion, opened the door. Thamuz visualized the interior: it was dark and there was no sign of life. The only thing he could see were chairs made of sturdy material that could support any weight.


    He entered the temple, and right at that moment, it started to rain.


    "Just what I needed," Thamuz whispered to himself.


    But a clap of thunder made him jolt, and what he saw when the thunder struck almost made him die of fright: there was a man kneeling with his hands together, praying in front of a statue.


    Thamuz tried to hide behind one of the chairs, but due to his large body, he couldn''t do so without making a loud noise.


    The man raised his head and turned it slightly, trying to locate the source of the noise, but not finding it, he returned to his position.


    "Come out from there, Thamuz. Come here," the man said.


    Thamuz was confused. He tried not to breathe to make as little noise as possible, but it didn''t work.


    "I know you''re there. Just come, I won''t hurt you," the man spoke again.


    Thamuz had no other choice. He could leave the house and run, but that could arouse suspicion in the settlement. So he mustered courage and decided to slowly approach the man.


    "How do you know my name?" said Thamuz.


    "Don''t you remember the voice of someone familiar?" the man asked.


    "No, your voice is not familiar to me in any way," Thamuz replied.


    "How can that be! I carried you when you were just a baby," the man exclaimed, turning to show his full face.


    Thamuz recognized him instantly, a face he had almost forgotten over time.


    "Zyten!" Thamuz exclaimed, running towards him with open arms.


    "Thamuz!" Zyten exclaimed with equal joy.


    Thamuz hugged Zyten, such a strong hug that he almost knocked the wind out of him.


    "Boy, you''re getting stronger every day," said Zyten, patting Thamuz''s back for him to stop hugging.


    "Sorry, I still haven''t learned to control my strength," said Thamuz, letting go of him.


    "It really shows," said Zyten, catching his breath.


    Thamuz began to look around, noticing the different decorations and paintings adorning the temple, all seeming to be the work of a great artist. However, he noticed something peculiar: on every object was depicted the image of that god.


    "What are you doing at this hour in the temple?" he asked.


    "I''m praying to Azhamat, the giver of life and lord of creation. I''m praying for a small miracle," Zyten responded, with a downcast gaze.


    "Did you have the same idea?" Thamuz asked.


    "The same idea? Did you come to ask for a miracle?" Zyten questioned.


    "Yes, I wanted to ask that god for a small thing: to make me a normal child," said Thamuz, kneeling next to Zyten.


    "Well, I don''t know if he''ll listen to us. It''s been a long time since he appeared," Zyten informed, looking at the statue.


    "He''ll surely appear any moment. A god shouldn''t take long to respond, from what my mother told me," Thamuz said energetically, also looking at the statue.


    "Didn''t your mother tell you?" Zyten asked, frowning.


    "Tell me what?" Thamuz questioned.


    "Azhamat disappeared a long time ago in a war of gods, specifically, against the plagues," Zyten recounted.


    "The plagues? Who are they?" Thamuz asked curiously.


    "They were primordial gods, the first in creation. They were betrayed and confined to a dimension apart from ours, until they were freed and led a great path of destruction and death. But, thanks to the unreachable efforts of a doctor, they could be killed once and for all," Zyten told.


    "They seem like pure nonsense. How could a doctor defeat gods?" Thamuz laughed.


    "He was aided by different gods and entities throughout existence. One of those gods was Azhamat, and we''re still waiting for his return."


    "I think he may have died."


    "It''s possible, but we do not lose faith in him. Perhaps he''s in a corner of the galaxy healing his wounds."


    "So, he won''t be able to grant me my miracle?" Thamuz asked with a tone of lament.


    "All that''s left is to pray enough, so that we can see him again, even if it''s just a glimpse of his essence," Zyten replied.


    "How can we pray to him?" Thamuz asked, looking at Zyten.


    "Just watch what I do," he ordered.


    Thamuz observed that Zyten crossed his hands, putting them on his face while bowing his head. He repeated the same and closed his eyes.


    "Please, Lord Azhamat, I only ask you for something simple: make me a normal child, with short horns, pale skin, normal height and small body. I only ask you for that, please," Thamuz prayed towards the statue in front of him.


    He repeated those words over and over, burying his face in his hands to the point of trembling from the continuous repetition of his prayer. Until he heard something, a faint whisper.


    "Did you hear that, Zyten?" Thamuz asked, but realized he was alone.


    "Zyten?" he repeated several times, without an answer, until he heard that whisper again.


    "You killed me..."


    "Who said that?" Thamuz questioned, frightened.


    The whispers grew louder, repeating the same words, until Thamuz turned his head and saw the source of those whispers: the statue in front of him.


    The statue had changed position, with its head down and its arms behind its back, as if it had been hanged. A liquid similar to blood began to pour from its head.


    Thamuz observed the event and began to back away, but something stopped him: the statue was opening up, revealing a creature of grotesque proportions.


    "Damned plague! You killed me!" the creature screamed.


    Thamuz let out a scream of anguish and turned to run towards the exit door, hearing the creature''s footsteps pursuing him. Upon reaching the door, he rammed it with all his might.


    He could have been left confused by the force he had to exert and the fright the creature gave him, but he quickly got up and observed the temple. In the back, the statue remained normal, with no signs of violence.


    "It can''t be," Thamuz muttered.


    But he had no time to reflect. The noise alerted the entire settlement, turning on the lights and alerting the guards.


    "I think that noise came from the temple," said one guard.


    "We must go see what that was," the other replied.


    Thamuz heard the murmurs and footsteps of the approaching guards, so he ran with all his might, reaching his house and agilely sliding through the small basement opening, hiding in the darkest corner.

 Chapter 3: recognition

    "Did you hear the new news?" Aolani asked, placing a steaming cup on the table next to Tawnylon.


    "No, what happened?" Tawnylon questioned, grabbing the cup regardless of how hot it was.


    "The doors of the temple have been destroyed. The guards believe it was the previous night, but they were damaged in such a way that they are beyond repair," Aolani responded, sitting at the table next to Tawnylon.


    "Even I would struggle to knock down those doors," said Tawnylon, drinking from the cup.


    "Do you think some beast could have entered the settlement?" Aolani asked, somewhat worried.


    "No, I don''t think so. Not with enough size to knock down those doors," Tawnylon replied.


    Suddenly, a door was heard opening: it was the basement door, and Thamuz was coming out of it.


    "Look who finally came out of his cave," Tawnylon said sarcastically.


    "Hello, dad," Thamuz said, panting.


    "Is something wrong, son? You look very tired," Aolani asked, concerned.


    "Nothing, I just want to go to my room. I didn''t have a good night," Thamuz replied, walking towards the stairs.


    "Remember we have to talk to the elders in a few hours so they can finally give you full authorization in the settlement," Tawnylon said, taking the rest of the cup.


    "Alright, I''ll just take a short nap. I really need it," Thamuz insisted, going upstairs.


    "He''s only six years old and already acts like he''s eighteen," Tawnylon commented, looking inside the cup and placing it on the table.


    "It''s probably just a phase. Remember when we were younger and my father wouldn''t let you into the castle? I would always sneak out at night and go to your house," Aolani recalled, grabbing the cup and caressing Tawnylon''s head.


    "I still remember how furious your father would get when he brought an entire army just so you would leave my house. The best part was when I defeated his best soldier with a single swipe," Tawnylon added, also caressing Aolani''s head.


    Thamuz was in his room, eyes full of expectation, and let his large body drop onto the bed, breaking it in the process.


    "Now I have to fix it again," he muttered to himself.


    He was about to fall asleep when he heard something at his window, the sound of light knocks.


    He got up from the bed slowly, trying to glimpse the origin of those knocks. They were soft taps that became more and more intense, until he approached the window to see what it was.


    He found a child, of seemingly normal appearance, knocking on the window.


    Thamuz opened the window a little and spoke through the open edge.


    "Who are you?" he asked.


    "I''m nobody, just a street kid who unfortunately saw everything a little demon did in the temple," the child replied.


    Thamuz immediately fell silent, swearing no person or being had seen him, so with a nervous voice, he asked:


    "Do you want me to give you something? I don''t have anything, really."


    "Me? No, I don''t want anything, I just want to ask you something," the child responded.


    "What do you want to ask me?" Thamuz questioned.


    "Do you want to explore the universe?" the child asked.


    "What a strange question. You better leave before my parents catch you," Thamuz replied, trying to close the window.


    "No, wait, let me explain," the child said, struggling with the window.


    "Alright, I give you twenty seconds," Thamuz said, opening the window.


    "Thanks," said the child, entering the room.


    The child observed Thamuz''s room, it was simple, with some decorations like medium-sized animal bones and something special on a central table: a photo of Thamuz with his parents.


    "Wow, it doesn''t seem like you try very hard to make a good impression," the child said.


    "Why should I? I''ve never had any visitors," said Thamuz.


    "That explains a lot. Well, my name is Shandam. And yours?" he asked.


    "My name is Thamuz, just that. I don''t have a last name," Thamuz replied.


    "I see, Thamuz. What a peculiar name. Do you know why they gave you that name?"


    "Not really, my parents never explained why."


    "So, do you want me to explain why I''m here?" Shandam asked.


    "Obviously, you show up at my window like it''s nothing, you don''t even seem disturbed by my peculiar appearance," Thamuz responded.


    "That''s exactly why I came here. I want to ask you for a favor, a very big one and perhaps dangerous," Shandam said, showing some desperation in his voice.


    "Alright, say it, maybe I can do it if it''s not too big," Thamuz said.


    "Could you give me shelter in your house? I know it sounds strange, but I really need it. I''m escaping from the king of this world; he wants my head," Shandam explained.


    "There''s a king of this world? I had no idea," Thamuz asked.


    "It shows you haven''t gone out much. There has been a king of this world since time immemorial, since the first atom was created," Shandam said.


    "Why is he after you? Did you do something to anger him?" Thamuz questioned, giving him a suspicious look.


    "That bastard bought me at the Yhakuntan market at a low price and has used me for different things ever since, horrible things," Shandam said, showing sadness in his eyes.


    "Yhakuntan market?" Thamuz asked, intrigued.


    "Yes, it''s the biggest black market in this galaxy, as big as a planet," Shandam replied.


    "Wow, it must be huge," Thamuz said disinterestedly.


    "Did you pay attention to what I said?" Shandam asked, annoyed.


    "Well, it''s pretty strange for a kid to suddenly appear at my window and start telling me strange stories like it''s normal," Thamuz responded, looking at him intently.


    "Come on, buddy, just help me this one time. I promise to reward you generously when I grow up, if I manage to stay alive," Shandam replied, raising his hands.


    "Alright, let''s go downstairs. We''ll talk about this with my parents," Thamuz said, getting up from his seat.


    "Wait, we can''t talk about this, it''s just..." Shandam''s words were interrupted by the creaking of the door. Thamuz turned his head towards the source of the sound and saw his mother, carrying a tray full of food.


    "Sorry for coming in so unexpectedly, it''s just that I thought you were hungry and..." Aolani''s words were also cut off when she saw a child she didn''t know standing next to Thamuz. She dropped her tray and opened her mouth wide.


    "Who is he!" Aolani exclaimed.


    "Calm down, mom, he''s just a lost kid," Thamuz said, trying to calm her.


    "Hello, ma''am," the kid said in a calm tone.


    "Who are you!" Aolani yelled.


    Heavy footsteps were heard coming from downstairs; it was surely Tawnylon, hurrying after hearing his wife''s screams.


    "Oh no, dad will be here. He''s going to be furious," Thamuz said, looking at Shandam.


    "What''s going on? Why are you screaming so much?" Tawnylon asked, standing behind Aolani.


    "This kid broke into our house and saw Thamuz!" Aolani pointed.


    Tawnylon looked at the kid his wife was pointing at, but his eyes focused on a special spot on his body: his neck. He kept staring at it as if in a trance.


    "Let me see your neck, kid," Tawnylon said, slowly approaching the child.


    "Why? What do you want to see?" the kid asked, slowly backing away from Tawnylon.


    Tawnylon lunged at the kid as gently as possible to avoid hurting him and revealed the secret on his neck: a mark, as if he were cattle.


    "It can''t be," Aolani said, covering her mouth upon seeing the mark.


    The mark had a peculiar shape: it was three lines intersecting with a strange symbol, as if it were a flower.


    "It''s the mark of Zarakel," Tawnylon said, showing concern in his voice.


    Trumpets were heard in the distance, announcing the arrival of something big. Tawnylon let go of the kid and looked out the bedroom window.


    "He''s coming," he said.


    "Who''s coming?" Thamuz asked.


    "Take the kid and go to the basement. Hide in the darkest spot possible until either me or your mother tells you," Tawnylon said, grabbing Thamuz''s arms.


    "What''s going on, dad? Why are you acting so strange now?" Thamuz asked nervously.


    "I said go!" Tawnylon yelled.


    Thamuz stared intently at his father. He had never seen him in that state before, so he knew it was something really serious. He grabbed Shandam by the wrist and ran with him to the basement.


    "Warn the whole village that Zarakel is coming. Tell them to prepare for his arrival," Tawnylon said, not taking his eyes off the window.


    "Right away," Aolani said, quickly going towards the stairs.


    Tawnylon went down after several minutes, opened the front door of the house and saw how Aolani was alerting the entire settlement about someone''s arrival. He ran towards the guards and ordered them to open the gate immediately, which they obeyed.


    "Why has he come here? Why?" asked one of the visibly frightened guards.


    "Don''t tremble right now, keep your spear firm and never let it go," said Tawnylon, placing his hand on the scared guard''s shoulder.


    Meanwhile, Aolani continued warning the others about the arrival of someone very fearsome. The neighbors asked her who it was, and she responded with the name Zarakel, immediately making them understand who it was.


    Everyone in the settlement was organizing themselves in a peculiar way, in two rows leaving a space in the middle too large, large enough for an army to fit. The trumpets were heard again, this time much closer.


    "Receive the king of the world in the best way, you purposeless vassal damned. Just living they owe him," a chorus was heard outside the settlement.


    The ground began to tremble and the sky blackened instantly. Massive footsteps were heard at the settlement''s gate, and then an immense army walking like a titan could be seen.


    "That''s Zarakel''s new army," Tawnylon whispered in Aolani''s ear.


    "They look more fearsome than my father''s army," Aolani added.


    The army was formed by different beings equal in appearance, their horns were very prominent and adorned with different types of ornaments and jewelry. They wore gigantic black armors, stained with the blood of past battles. Their eyes were not visible and were obscured by the shadow cast by their helmets, but the most distinguishable feature of their appearance was their height and build, almost equal to Tawnylon''s.


    "Kneel before Zarakel, supreme fortieth emperor king of the partisan union of the seven arbitrary stars. Kneel before his imposing presence," said a figure covered in exaggeratedly large robes.


    All the villagers knelt when that being said those words, except Tawnylon, who remained standing, staring intently at that large-robed being.


    "Why don''t you kneel? Kneel right now!" said that figure, with an irritating tone of voice.


    "I don''t want to and I won''t," Tawnylon defiantly said.


    The figure showed an irritated face and tried to kick Tawnylon in the knee, but when it did, its own knee broke.


    "Damn you! You broke my knee!" the figure screamed in pain.


    "Actually, you tried to hit me. There''s your result," Tawnylon said, crossing his arms.


    "Damn you, kill him, kill that giant son of a bitch," he yelled, pointing his finger at Tawnylon.


    The atmosphere was charged with tension, a dark shadow enveloped the settlement, and a large tentacle rose into the air, clutching the figure dressed in extravagant robes.


    "What are you doing, sir?" said the figure, visibly frightened by the interruption.


    "That''s no way to treat old friends, Chantan," a powerful voice resonated from afar.


    The ground shook again, with much greater force this time, and the army parted to the sides, creating a path in the middle for the passage of their eternal ruler.


    A man of medium height and stout build emerged, his armor made of such dark and hard materials that it gave him the appearance of an incarnate demon. Imposing horns rose over his head, and a seven-pointed crown, adorned with dazzling red jewels, completed his appearance. He rode atop a monstrous beast, easily four meters tall and three wide.


    But most impressive were his abilities; the tentacle that had appeared earlier sprouted from his back, as if an extension of his own darkness, and had easily captured Chantan.


    "Do you know who you just offended?" the king asked, fixing his gaze into Chantan''s eyes.


    "No, I don''t know, Lord Zarakel, please forgive me," Chantan begged, in a desperate attempt to appease his king.


    "He is someone very important to me. Do you remember what happened to the other spokesman when he hurt something important to me?" the king inquired, tightening his grip with the tentacle.


    "Yes, I remember it very clearly. Please forgive me, please," Chantan pleaded.


    The king summoned another tentacle from his back, severing Chantan''s leg where his knee was broken, and tossed him aside, slamming him against the wall of a house.


    "I couldn''t stand his voice anymore," he said, retracting the tentacles into his back.


    The beast he rode began advancing slowly, while the king observed how all the inhabitants of the settlement knelt, except Tawnylon, who remained standing, defiant, his gaze fixed on the king''s eyes.


    "Well, it''s been too long, Tawnylon," Zarakel said in a mocking tone.


    "I say the same. Now you look like a real demon; but you''re as ugly and horrible as ever," Tawnylon retorted, crossing his arms with disdain.


    "Well, you''re still as funny as ever!" exclaimed Zarakel, slapping his knee. "But I didn''t come here just to listen to your dirty jokes. Something of mine has gone missing, and the trackers indicate it''s right in this settlement. So I''ll give you only one chance to hand it over to me."


    "Something of yours? In this forgotten part by Azhamat? Well, that doesn''t sound too believable," questioned Tawnylon, rubbing his chin.


    "The trackers don''t lie; their scent can reach hundreds of kilometers. Besides, we''ve been following its trail for a while now," replied Zarakel, scanning his surroundings.


    "Why do you care so much about that thing? I''m sure you can buy thousands and millions of them. You even brought an entire army just to retrieve something you lost," said Tawnylon, also scanning the surroundings.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    "You see, that thing isn''t really mine; it belongs to someone very special to me," said Zarakel, looking back.


    Behind him came a large vehicle being loaded by four soldiers noticeably bulkier and taller than the normal soldiers present. The vehicle reached where Zarakel stood, and the four soldiers placed it on the ground with great care. From it emerged two enigmatic figures.


    The first was a giant being over four meters tall. His horns were as large as Tawnylon''s, and he wore fine clothes, but the most notable thing was that he always seemed to be drooling, as if he were a baby.


    The second figure was a woman also dressed in fine clothes, but her demeanor was much more refined and elegant compared to the giant being. Her most prominent feature was her long, black nails, which appeared to be rotten.


    "Let me introduce you to Gigantino and Tyranta, my son and my wife," said Zarakel, pointing to the peculiar figures behind him.


    Gigantino immediately approached Tawnylon, towering over him by far, and looked him directly in the eyes, still drooling.


    "Dad, this one seems strong for shamonak. Can I kill him?" Gigantino asked, eyes filled with excitement, looking at Zarakel.


    "No, son. This man has a rivalry with me that you can''t break or change. If you do, I will punish you severely," replied Zarakel, defiantly.


    "What a bother! When can I have a rival? The ones you send me to fight always end up broken or motionless," complained Gigantino, with an irritable tone.


    "When the time comes, son. We haven''t found a worthy rival for you yet," said Zarakel, looking back to where his wife was.


    "What? Why are you looking at me? Am I naked or something?" Tyranta asked, visibly annoyed by her husband''s gaze.


    "I just wanted to ask how my damn filthy wife was doing," replied Zarakel.


    "I''m fine. I was better in the carriage without having to see your damn dirty face for a few hours," said Tyranta, as she walked around the villagers, paying special attention to Aolani, who was standing next to Tawnylon.


    "Look who''s here," whispered Aolani in Tawnylon''s ear, leaning in so he could hear better.


    "Is that who I think it is?" Tawnylon questioned, turning his head to look at Aolani.


    "Yes, my mother looks very different from the last time we saw her. Zarakel killing my father and forcing her to marry him has changed her a lot. Although she''s still the same bitch as always," said Aolani, staring fixedly at Tyranta as she walked.


    Tyranta strolled among the villagers, slapping and hitting them on the head with moderate force, enough to irritate anyone. However, no one could do anything, aware of the consequences if they dared to raise a hand against the king''s wife.


    "So, Tawnylon, do you understand now?" asked Zarakel, dismounting from his beast.


    "I still don''t know, and tell your son to stop staring at me. He''s bothering me a lot," said Tawnylon, trying to push Gigantino away with one hand as he blocked the sun.


    "It''s about a slave I recently acquired. It cost me a fortune because of a special ability it possesses: it can heal its body at incredible speeds. Once I cut off an arm, and it regenerated in just ten minutes. It''s the perfect gift for my dear son," said Zarakel, standing next to Gigantino and giving him a hug.


    "You''ve turned a conscious being into a toy for your twisted son. You''ve really changed over time, you don''t even resemble us, the yhamak, anymore," Tawnylon questioned, staring intently at both of them.


    "I am much more yhamak than anyone here in this village! So don''t question our race if you don''t want me to reduce this settlement to ashes," exclaimed Zarakel, letting four tentacles sprout from his back and point them at Tawnylon, in a clear sign of threat.


    Meanwhile, in Tawnylon and Aolani''s house, Thamuz and Shandam hid in the basement, observing through an opening the events unfolding.


    "So that''s the king of the world. He looks more terrifying than I imagined," Thamuz said, his eyes fixed on the outside, attentive to everything that was happening.


    "It''s worse when he lays his hands on you. All you can do is pray to your god for eternal rest, for death," said Shandam, sitting in a corner, with a distant look in his eyes.


    "What exactly did he do to you?" Thamuz asked, not taking his eyes off the outside.


    "Him? He just cut off my arm, once," Shandam replied, turning his head to the side.


    Thamuz turned his head and stared intently at Shandam, who had his head turned to the right. Upon noticing Thamuz''s gaze, Shandam turned and looked him in the eyes.


    "Relax. If you see me with both arms, it means they can grow back. The real hell is being with his idiot son," Shandam said, clenching his fists with anger.


    "The giant idiot standing in front of his father?" Thamuz asked.


    "Exactly. Being with him was hell. His brute strength was too much for me. He broke my bones, tore off my arms and eyes. He threw me against the walls of his room with such tremendous force that it made the castle tremble. And the only time I could rest was when he cut off my head. I saw nothing after that; it was like sleeping, for just thirty minutes," Shandam recounted, tears welling up in his eyes.


    "It sounds like you''ve been through a lot," Thamuz said, checking some shelves in the basement.


    "What are you looking for?" Shandam asked, wiping the tears away with his hands.


    "In case father can''t reach an agreement with that king, I want to give you something. Something that will make you feel no pain," Thamuz said.


    "What is it?" Shandam questioned, getting up and approaching Thamuz.


    "Here it is!" exclaimed Thamuz, pulling out a small vial from a box.


    "It looks interesting," Shandam said, looking over Thamuz''s shoulder.


    "This is an extract from a plant that father used to harvest. As he tells me, a single drop makes you feel no pain for a maximum of a week. This will surely help you if you have to face that brute," Thamuz said, showing Shandam the small vial.


    "Just one drop? And my pain will disappear for a week?" Shandam questioned, with a tone of confusion.


    "You''ll even feel like you''re floating. It''s the best for enduring absurd amounts of pain," Thamuz said, taking Shandam''s hand.


    Thamuz examined Shandam''s hand; it had the same mark as he had on his neck. He placed the vial in Shandam''s palm and closed his hand.


    "Take good care of it," Thamuz said seriously.


    "Thank you," said Shandam, relief evident in his voice.


    Thamuz looked back outside; the situation was becoming increasingly tense. Zarakel still had his tentacles pointed towards Tawnylon, who raised his hands and straightened his back as if he were in a fighting stance.


    "Don''t rush, Zarakel. We haven''t done anything to warrant violence against us," Tawnylon said, seriousness in his tone.


    Zarakel turned his head slightly, perhaps due to the strong breeze blowing at that moment. However, when his gaze fully settled on a small opening in the house, he saw two bright red eyes, like illuminated blood, that disappeared immediately.


    "What is that?" Zarakel whispered, diverting all his attention to that small opening.


    Tawnylon watched in confusion as Zarakel changed his focus so suddenly and followed the king''s gaze to the opening. He paled instantly upon realizing where Zarakel''s attention was centered.


    "He''s going towards our son," Tawnylon whispered in Aolani''s ear.


    Aolani''s eyes widened and she quickly ran towards Zarakel, trying to stop him.


    "Wait, Lord Zarakel, let me ask you a quick question," Aolani said, in a desperate attempt to stop him.


    "Step aside. I lost interest in you a long time ago," Zarakel said, gently pushing Aolani aside with one of his tentacles.


    Tawnylon did the same as Aolani and stood in front of Zarakel, raising his hands in a gesture of halt.


    "Wait, Zarakel, you can''t go into that house!" exclaimed Tawnylon, desperate.


    Zarakel looked with confusion at Tawnylon and Aolani''s futile attempts, retracted his tentacles, and stared them both down.


    "Why can''t I go into that house?" he said, his voice resonating on the ground.


    "It''s just that..." Tawnylon hesitated, searching for a reasonable explanation.


    "It''s just that we just killed a gunthan. You know how those creatures are when you open their guts; the smell can be perceived kilometers away," Aolani intervened, improvising a quick excuse.


    Zarakel paused for a moment, noticing the word "we" and a smirk of satisfaction spread across his face, reflecting his sadistic nature.


    "We''re done? Then, that means that house belongs to both of you. Even better," Zarakel said, quickening his pace towards the house and pushing aside Tawnylon and Aolani.


    Tawnylon gave Aolani a scolding look as she raised her hands in protest, watching as Zarakel rapidly approached the house.


    Finally, he reached the small opening where he had seen those blood-red eyes. He crouched down and tried to look to discover the origin of that image, but seeing nothing, he stood up.


    "It seems it was just my imagination," Zarakel said, clapping his hands with a sense of relief.


    Meanwhile, in the basement, Thamuz and Shandam were hidden behind a large box, with Thamuz making great efforts to hide due to his height.


    "Check if he''s gone, Shandam. I can''t look because I''d be caught instantly," Thamuz said.


    Shandam cautiously peeked his head out, trying to see if Zarakel had left, and was surprised to find that he had indeed departed.


    "It''s all clear, Thamuz," Shandam announced.


    Thamuz emerged from behind the box and sighed in relief, looking up at the ceiling.


    "That was really close, don''t you think?" he commented.


    Shandam seemed to be looking at Thamuz, but in reality, he was observing something else. He didn''t move, and his eyes were fixed on it.


    "What''s wrong? Did you see a ghost or something?" Thamuz asked, concerned about Shandam''s gaze.


    Shandam slowly began to raise his arm, pointing with his index finger towards the back of Thamuz.


    "Tentacles," he stammered.


    Thamuz immediately turned his head upon hearing those words and saw before him two tentacles with a spectral blackness, with several spikes and protrusions around them.


    "Oh, no," Thamuz muttered.


    The tentacles immediately ensnared Thamuz and Shandam with overwhelming force, enough to pull them out of their hiding spot and destroy part of the basement. They were both suspended in the air, like puppets.


    "Look what I found! My son''s toy and something very peculiar!" exclaimed jubilant Zarakel, watching as the two boys were squeezed by the tentacles.


    Tawnylon witnessed the entire scene and ran immediately to help them, but he was met with a colossal and overwhelming force.


    "My toy! My toy! Dad, you got it back!" exclaimed excited Gigantino, running towards Zarakel and crashing into Tawnylon on the way.


    Zarakel threw Shandam into Gigantino''s arms, who hugged him roughly, breaking a large portion of his bones and causing him to lose consciousness instantly.


    "No, let him go, leave him alone, you damn bastard!" Thamuz shouted, struggling to free himself from the tentacles that imprisoned him.


    Zarakel fixed his gaze on Thamuz, squeezing him tighter until he felt a brutal blow to his cheek.


    It was Tawnylon, who, seeing how Zarakel mistreated his son, ran towards him with impressive speed and struck him with all his might, causing Zarakel to release Thamuz and go flying, crashing into a nearby house.


    "I''ve tolerated you tormenting this settlement for too long, but I''ll never tolerate you hurting my son! I''d kill you if I could!" exclaimed Tawnylon, his eyes shining with intense white light.


    Zarakel''s army soldiers began to advance towards Tawnylon with giant steps as he crouched down to the ground, preparing for what was coming.


    Laughter echoed in the distance. It was Zarakel, emerging from the house against which he had collided while retracting his tentacles on his back.


    "Forgive me, Tawnylon, I don''t usually get so violent without any reason," Zarakel laughed, wiping the blood from his mouth.


    Thamuz lay on the ground, apparently unconscious, but after a few seconds, he began to slowly rise.


    Everyone present watched in amazement as Thamuz stood up. His skin was different, his horns larger, his eyes gleaming with intense red, and most notably, his body was well-defined, and his height almost reached that of Tawnylon.


    "Are you okay, son?" Tawnylon asked, grasping Thamuz''s arm.


    "Shandam, father... they took him," Thamuz said between sobs.


    "Who?" Tawnylon asked again, scanning the surroundings.


    Thamuz turned his head towards where Gigantino was with Shandam, squeezing and hitting him on the ground as if he were a toy.


    Tawnylon watched, feeling disgusted by the way Gigantino was treating that child, but he couldn''t intervene. He had already done something that could have cost him his life.


    Aolani immediately rushed to where the two were, kneeling down and quickly examining Thamuz.


    "By Azhamat! Are you okay, son? Did you get hurt?" she asked, full of concern.


    "I''m fine, mother," Thamuz said, fully straightening up.


    Zarakel observed the whole scene and let out another laugh, one that resonated throughout the settlement.


    "You two? Did you have that thing as your son? I wonder what you did to have it, not even I would dare to commit such an abomination," Zarakel laughed, approaching them.


    The villagers began to surround Thamuz, marveling at his strange characteristics, and murmurs began.


    "He looks like a demon," some said.


    "I think I saw him in some book about ancient universe facts," added another.


    The whispers intensified, and the soldiers surrounding Thamuz also drew closer, intrigued by the presence of that being.


    Gigantino dropped Shandam to the ground and slowly advanced towards Thamuz. Upon standing in front of him, he crouched down and looked him directly in the eyes.


    "You seem very strong," he said. "Dad! Can I fight him in shamonak?"


    Tawnylon grabbed Thamuz by the shoulder and pulled him towards himself, shielding him with his body.


    "He''s not going to fight you, you brute," Tawnylon said, not taking his eyes off his surroundings.


    Zarakel stood next to Gigantino and pulled out an unknown device from his armor. It emitted a green light that hit Thamuz, but it caused him no harm.


    "Unknown species. There are no records of its genetic material or scientific data about this individual," a voice emerged from the device.


    "Where did you get that thing?" Zarakel asked, storing the device in his armor.


    "We don''t have to answer to you. You already got what you wanted. Leave and don''t come back," said Aolani, hiding behind Tawnylon.


    "My eyes are now interested in something else. I need to know what it is," Zarakel said, reaching out towards them.


    "You don''t need to know anything. Leave us alone," Tawnylon said, slowly stepping back.


    "You don''t understand, Tawnylon. I''ve never seen my son so interested in someone, nor have I heard him wanting a shamonak fight. Now all my attention is focused on your son," Zarakel said, with his tentacles slowly emerging from his back.


    "What do you mean?" Tawnylon asked.


    "I mean I want our sons to fight in a shamonak to the death," said Zarakel, his voice resonating with a mix of challenge and anticipation, while a twisted smirk formed on his face.


    A deathly silence fell over the crowd; surprise was palpable at the mention of shamonak. The tension was thick, until a voice of objection broke the silence:


    "Shamonak! Not at this time of year, and especially not with that abomination!"


    Zarakel turned his head with theatrical slowness to identify the owner of that voice. It came from one of the elders of the village, who was advancing towards them with steady steps, adjusting his glasses with trembling hands.


    "The fortieth law of the sixth mandate of Rhalayt stipulates that shamonak can only be performed in the months of Ghakarn and Mhokarn, on the days when our sun hangs in the sky for seventy-eight hours. Furthermore, shamonak is an exclusive rite for members of our species, not to be profaned by other races," the elder explained, stopping in front of Zarakel and adjusting his glasses again with a meticulous gesture.


    Zarakel observed him with an intensity that chilled the blood, and suddenly, two tentacles emerged from his back, one piercing the elder''s chest and the other decapitating him with surgical precision.


    "Does anyone else wish to object to this shamonak?" Zarakel asked, his voice laden with a deadly challenge as he lifted the lifeless body of the elder.


    The villagers shook their heads, their gestures conveying a fear that kept them from speaking. Zarakel discarded the body disdainfully and retracted his tentacles, staining his hands with the still-warm blood of the elder.


    "And you, boy, are you ready for your first and final shamonak battle?" he inquired.


    "I don''t even know what that is," Thamuz responded, his voice barely a whisper.


    "You''ll find out soon enough," Zarakel replied, turning his gaze back to Tawnylon. "I grant you twelve hours to teach the young one how to fight in the shamonak. You know the location of the confrontation."


    "In the arena of Rhalayt?" Tawnylon asked, his voice trembling.


    "In the same arena where you defeated me with a single blow, and where your precious son will be brutally humiliated by mine," declared Zarakel, releasing a sinister laugh that echoed in the square.


    Tawnylon''s eyes widened dramatically as Aolani brought a hand to her mouth, stifling a scream. Thamuz, meanwhile, held Gigantino''s gaze, a silent yet firm challenge.


    "So it is decided! The first death shamonak of this year has begun!" exclaimed Zarakel, his voice resonating with authority.

 Chapter 4: preparation

    "Twelve hours, remember that, Tawnylon," said Zarakel, mounting his beast and glancing sideways at Tawnylon.


    The king walked alongside his beast towards the exit and, with a snap of his fingers, ordered the four soldiers who had loaded the cart to repeat their task. His wife carefully got into the cart while Gigantino stood staring at the sky, holding Shandam''s lifeless body in his hand.


    "Aren''t you getting in the carriage?" asked Zarakel.


    "No, I want to walk the entire way with the toy in my hand," Gigantino replied.


    "Whatever my son says," said Zarakel.


    Zarakel kicked his beast and it started walking. His army followed in orderly formation, the ground shaking under the weight of so many synchronized steps.


    "They''re finally leaving," said Tawnylon, letting out a sigh of relief.


    The rumble of the steps was deafening, but it gradually faded until only an eerie silence remained. The townspeople exhaled in relief and tranquility, momentarily freed from oppression.


    "My heart almost jumped out," commented one of them.


    "I had never seen the king in person," said another, eyes still wide with shock.


    Meanwhile, Thamuz, the strange and imposing figure, surveyed his surroundings. For the first time, he was outside, visible to all, and was surprised to see that, instead of being scared, the inhabitants were awestruck by his presence.


    Two guards approached Tawnylon, trembling and clutching their spears.


    "He-he''s gone," said one.


    "I know, we just saw," Tawnylon replied calmly.


    "How many dead?" asked another.


    "An elder and a royal herald. The others just had minor issues with the king''s wife, and some are still scared by this sudden invasion," replied Tawnylon.


    A large group of people had gathered around the corpse of one of the elders, one of the oldest in the settlement, at three hundred and sixty-four years old before his death. However, age also brings arrogance and pride, a combination that sealed his fate.


    "I never liked that guy, he talked too much," said one of the villagers, looking indifferently at the lifeless body.


    A large group of girls had gathered around Thamuz, admiring his remarkable physique and strange appearance. Some began to touch him, but this didn''t bother Thamuz.


    "How did you get that black skin?" asked one of them.


    "I don''t know, I was born this way," replied Thamuz.


    "And these horns? Were you born with them too?" asked another, rubbing Thamuz''s horns.


    "I suppose so, in the photos with my father they''re already this size," he replied again.


    "Thamuz!" someone shouted his name.


    Thamuz turned his head, seeing his father calling him over. Thamuz obeyed and left the group of girls behind, walking quickly towards his father.


    "What is it, Father?" asked Thamuz, noticing the concern on Tawnylon''s face.


    Tawnylon straightened his back a bit to grab Thamuz''s shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes.


    "I have to train you in the shamonak, at least the basics, so you can kill that idiot giant Zarakel calls a son," said Tawnylon, gripping Thamuz''s shoulders tightly.


    <hr>


    "What is the shamonak?" asked Thamuz curiously.


    "I''ll show you, but first I need you to go to the back of the house and wait for me there. I have to help your mother and the others with the damage Zarakel caused," replied Tawnylon, releasing Thamuz''s shoulders.


    Thamuz watched his father head towards one of the houses destroyed by Zarakel, seeing how they pulled out the lifeless body of the herald. Then he turned his head and walked towards the back of his house.


    He arrived at the back and sat on one of the benches there to rest. He stretched his legs and put his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling and reflecting on everything that had happened.


    "I didn''t know Shandam for long, but his eyes showed he had truly suffered. I can''t let it end like this, I have to train hard to defeat the creature known as Gigantino," Thamuz thought to himself.


    Suddenly, he heard footsteps coming from outside. He turned his head to see who it was and saw Tawnylon, carrying what seemed to be a large rock, almost the size of his father, and dropped it in the center of the backyard.


    "What is that?" Thamuz asked, curious.


    "It''s a bonkam stone, one of the hardest materials on this planet. Those just learning shamonak start using this stone," replied Tawnylon, observing the rock.


    "If it''s one of the hardest materials, why use it for beginners? Shouldn''t we use smaller or at least softer stones?" questioned Thamuz, looking at the stone with concern.


    "Intense training makes your body adapt to physical punishment. Your bones would solidify to the point they''d be like armor, and your muscles would become so strong you could perform feats beyond this world," said Tawnylon, giving the stone a small tap.


    Thamuz got up and approached the stone. He touched it and noticed its robustness; surely, hitting it would cause significant injuries to the attacker.


    "What do we do now?" asked Thamuz, looking at his father.


    "Now I can only teach you some basic shamonak techniques. They''re simple but vital to withstand a fight against that giant," said Tawnylon. "I want you to hit this stone with an open palm."


    "An open palm? Shouldn''t I make a fist when hitting?" questioned Thamuz.


    "Different styles use different ways of hitting, but shamonak uses an open palm because it distributes the impact more. Plus, it also helps to not hurt your hand too much when hitting your opponent," explained Tawnylon.


    Tawnylon stood in front of the stone, extended his arm back, and then struck the rock with such force that it caused a small crack. Seeing the damage, he observed it had only left a small crack.


    "It''s been a while since I trained this way," he said to himself.


    Thamuz admired the way his father struck the stone, so he stood in front of it and tried to adopt Tawnylon''s stance, although with some mistakes as it was his first time.


    "Now, hit it with all your strength," said Tawnylon.


    Thamuz obeyed and hit the stone with an open palm. A dry sound was heard, and Thamuz grabbed his hand.


    "It hurts!" he exclaimed.


    "The first time always hurts, but perseverance is what makes us strong. I want you to do it again," ordered Tawnylon.


    Thamuz looked at his father, took a deep breath, and prepared to strike again. Though his hands trembled with pain, the determination in his eyes was unyielding.


    "Remember, Thamuz," said Tawnylon, "it''s not just physical strength, but also the strength of will. Visualize your target and strike with the intent to overcome it."


    Thamuz nodded, focusing all his energy on the next strike. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining Gigantino''s face and Shandam''s suffering. With a shout of effort, he struck the stone with all his might.


    This time, the sound was a bit more resonant, and although the pain was intense, Thamuz saw that he had left a small mark on the stone.


    "Well done," said Tawnylon with a slight smile. "This is just the beginning. With each strike, you''ll grow stronger. Soon, you''ll be able to face any challenge that comes your way."


    Thamuz repeated the process, alternating between strong and weak strikes, but Tawnylon noticed something special about him: his adaptability. The arm Thamuz was using to strike had grown a bit, the muscles starting to become visible under his skin. The more Thamuz struck, the less discomfort he felt.


    "Give it one last strike, son. Do it with all your strength, with all your heart," said Tawnylon, watching with his arms crossed.


    Thamuz looked at his father and tensed his muscles to the maximum. He gave the last strike, and this time, the sound was just as resonant as before. He looked at his hand and saw that it had several wounds and bruises.


    "Don''t worry about that, son; it makes your palms tougher," said Tawnylon, observing Thamuz''s hand.


    "And now what?" asked Thamuz.


    "Now comes my favorite part, the grappling," responded Tawnylon.


    "Grappling?" questioned Thamuz.


    "Yes, using your own strength to throw your opponent to the ground. It''s basically that: something so simple but difficult to do at the same time," said Tawnylon, looking at the sun on the horizon.


    "Well, let''s start. I''m intrigued to know what grappling is like," said Thamuz enthusiastically.


    "First, we need to take off all our clothes except for our pants," said Tawnylon, taking off his shirt.


    "Oh, I see," said Thamuz, imitating his father and taking off his shirt as well.


    Father and son removed all their clothing except for their pants. Thamuz noticed the different scars and tattoos his father had on his body, but one scar in particular caught his attention: a line starting from his left shoulder down to his navel.


    "What happened there, Father?" asked Thamuz, pointing at the scar.


    "This? Well, it''s a long story, too long, but I can tell you after we finish our training, okay?" said Tawnylon.


    "Okay," affirmed Thamuz.


    "Very well," said Tawnylon, lifting his leg to stomp on the ground.


    The stomp made the ground tremble, revealing something huge beneath their feet: a structure that simulated a combat arena.


    "This is what a shamonak arena usually looks like, this is what it will look like when you''re face-to-face with your opponent," said Tawnylon, placing his hands on his knees.


    Thamuz observed the combat arena. It was black with a red circle indicating the boundaries, simple but effective for its use.


    "What happens if I step outside the red circle?" asked Thamuz.


    "You''re disqualified by default, but since it''s to the death, I don''t think there will be any issue," his father replied.


    Tawnylon lowered his stance, now standing with his hands in front as if trying to grab something. His legs were firm like trunks and he stared intently at Thamuz.


    <hr>


    "Do as I do," he said.


    Thamuz repeated the same process, lowering his stance, straightening his back, and placing his hands in front with firm legs.


    Both began to walk in circles, Tawnylon calculating Thamuz''s movements, while Thamuz tried to imitate his father as much as possible. Suddenly, Thamuz glanced behind Tawnylon and saw his mother sitting in a chair, watching them with a big smile.


    "Hi, Mom," said Thamuz, raising his hand in greeting.


    Tawnylon took advantage of this distraction and swiftly moved towards Thamuz, grabbing his waist and lifting him with one hand to then throw him to the ground with great force.


    "Your opponents won''t be so kind when you get distracted," said Tawnylon, looking down at Thamuz on the ground.


    Thamuz was breathing heavily, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets. His whole body had been violently shaken by the way Tawnylon had thrown him to the ground.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Come on, get up, there''s still a lot to learn," said Tawnylon, pressing his foot lightly on Thamuz''s chest.


    "Don''t be so hard on him, dear, he''s still a child!" exclaimed Aolani, showing visible concern.


    "Don''t worry, I''m just teaching him the basics," affirmed Tawnylon.


    Thamuz began to get up slowly, and when he was finally on his feet, he placed his hands on his knees and started to vomit saliva.


    "I didn''t throw you that hard, don''t be dramatic," said Tawnylon, returning to the combat stance.


    Thamuz lifted his head and got into the same stance, determined not to give up. This time, Thamuz took the initiative and quickly approached his father.


    Tawnylon noticed his son''s intentions and quickly struck Thamuz''s chin with an open palm. The blow left Thamuz stunned, and Tawnylon took the opportunity to position himself behind him and wrap his arms around Thamuz''s abdomen.


    "This is called a suplex," said Tawnylon.


    He proceeded to lift Thamuz and throw his body backward, causing Thamuz''s head to impact the ground. Tawnylon released Thamuz''s abdomen and stood up.


    "I hope you learn each grappling technique I show you," said Tawnylon.


    Thamuz was left with his head embedded in the ground, his legs floating in the air, and his body stiff until he moved and let his legs drop.


    "Get up," ordered Tawnylon.


    Thamuz heard these words and began to get up slowly, this time with less energy. He returned to his combat pose and stared intently at his father.


    The two faced off again, but this time, Thamuz moved more slowly, waiting for the moment his father would attack.


    Tawnylon observed Thamuz''s passivity and, in response, moved at almost sonic speed towards him. Thamuz couldn''t react to the attack, and Tawnylon struck him with an open palm to the head, knocking him out instantly.


    Thamuz fell to the ground, raising a large cloud of dust. Tawnylon squatted and observed his son.


    "I think I overdid it," said Tawnylon.


    But Thamuz immediately opened his eyes, trying to land an open palm strike on his unsuspecting father. Tawnylon reacted instantly and moved back, dodging the attack.


    "That''s playing dirty, son," protested Tawnylon.


    "I know, but remember, it''s a shamonak to the death. Anything goes," said Thamuz, getting to his feet.


    Tawnylon flashed a big smile, impressed by his son''s cunning. He raised his hands again, and both lunged at each other simultaneously.


    The combat continued with increasing intensity. Thamuz began to recall every move and technique his father had taught him. Thamuz''s resilience and adaptability became more evident with each bout. Aolani, watching from a distance, felt a mixture of pride and concern.


    The planet''s sun was at its highest point, painting the sky with a red sunset and announcing the imminent arrival of night. Finally, the two stopped fighting. Tawnylon stood, panting, with some visible bruises on his body, while Thamuz lay on the ground, covered in large bruises and wounds.


    <hr>


    "Not bad for your first time doing shamonak, son," said Tawnylon, looking at Thamuz with a mix of pride and worry.


    "I can''t move, Father," Thamuz replied with difficulty.


    Tawnylon knelt down and lifted Thamuz, supporting him on his shoulder and starting to walk alongside him. Thamuz limped and held his lower left side.


    Aolani got up from her chair and walked over to where her husband and son were, helping Thamuz walk and sitting him on a bench.


    "Bring some bandamena water; Thamuz needs to heal his wounds quickly," ordered Tawnylon.


    "Right away," replied Aolani.


    Aolani went inside the house, while Tawnylon sat right next to Thamuz, who was panting in pain, watching the fading sunset.


    "What did you think of your first shamonak training?" asked Tawnylon.


    "I can get used to this," said Thamuz, stuttering from the pain.


    "I''m sure you can, but remember, this was just basic training," added Tawnylon, looking at the horizon alongside his son.


    Aolani returned with a bucket containing a liquid. She handed it to Tawnylon along with some rustic wooden cups and then left again.


    "I''ll start packing for the journey. Thamuz, once your wounds heal, take a good bath; blood starts to stink after a few minutes," said Aolani, leaving the two alone.


    Tawnylon poured the liquid into one of the cups and handed it to Thamuz.


    "Drink this. Bandamena water has healing properties. It will help your wounds heal faster," said Tawnylon, watching as his son took the cup with trembling hands and drank slowly.


    "Thank you, Father," murmured Thamuz, feeling immediate relief as he drank the liquid.


    Tawnylon also poured some water into his cup, drank its contents, and gave a great sigh.


    "Do you still want to know how I got this scar?" asked Tawnylon, touching the scar on his left shoulder.


    "Yes, I''m curious about how you got it," said Thamuz, intrigued.


    "Alright, drink a bit more water; you need to be attentive to what I''ll tell you," said Tawnylon, pouring more water into Thamuz''s cup.


    Thamuz drank again, this time more eagerly, until his cup was empty.


    "When I was young like you, I was bigger and stronger than most kids my age. Some saw me as a freak, while others saw me as a wonder of this world. Your grandfather put me to train in shamonak when he saw my body''s potential. I quickly learned the ways of shamonak and the various techniques that made it up, until the big day arrived," narrated Tawnylon.


    "The big day?" asked Thamuz.


    "Yes, the big day. On that day, the current shamonak was taking place, very different from the shamonak to the death. My father took me to the big city to be accepted as a fighter. I was immediately accepted, and my fight began that same day."


    "I''m sure you beat your opponent with a single blow," said Thamuz, admiringly.


    "Of course I did, but it was because my opponent was much smaller and quite thinner than me. But just when I was about to leave the fight, I saw it, the most beautiful thing I''d ever seen in my life," Tawnylon paused, his eyes shining with the memory.


    "What was it?" asked Thamuz, eagerly.


    "I saw your mother. She was the princess of this world, sitting next to the king, her father, at the highest point of the combat arena. When I looked at her, she looked back at me."


    "Love at first sight, I guess," said Thamuz, smiling.


    "After that, we both became very interested in each other. Your mother would sometimes sneak out of her castle to meet me on a small hill, where every night the moon and the sun would meet for a celestial dance that illuminated the whole valley. But there was a small problem."


    "What was it?" asked Thamuz, concerned.


    "Your maternal grandfather didn''t approve of our relationship. He was very possessive of your mother, so much so that one day he sent his entire army to bring her back to the castle. But I defeated them all; I only gave them some blows so as not to hurt them too much."


    "They must have run away when they saw you; even I would," said Thamuz, smiling.


    "In a way they did, but I let your mother go with them to stay on good terms with her father. It went on like that for a long time, until they greatly reinforced the castle''s security, making it impossible for my beloved to return to me. But there''s always a silver lining; an opportunity arose that would help me a lot."


    "What was it?" asked Thamuz.


    "The king was a big fan of shamonak. He resolved all his conflicts using shamonak as his most reliable means. So, to keep his daughter away from me, he organized a shamonak tournament to claim her hand. I immediately saw the greatest opportunity of my life, but I couldn''t go as myself; they would surely deny my entry. So, I prepared a disguise: a black trench coat along with a mask that covered my entire face. I straightened my back so my height wouldn''t be so noticeable and relaxed my body so my muscles wouldn''t be so visible. They accepted me into the tournament right away. I easily defeated my opponents until I reached the final round, and in that round was Zarakel."


    "Zarakel? The same king who came to the village?" asked Thamuz, surprised.


    "The same. He was the king''s favorite. He had been showered with women and luxuries, motivated to win the tournament to claim your mother''s hand. But when it was my turn to face him, I ran towards him at great speed and gave him an open palm strike that sent him flying out of the combat arena, disqualifying him. Everyone was surprised, even your mother, who watched with eyes almost popping out of their sockets as the one they thought would win the tournament was defeated with a single blow. Then, when I went to claim her hand, I revealed my true identity to her father. His face paled instantly, and he drew his sword to attack me. I couldn''t react in time, and he gave me a deep cut on my shoulder. That''s why I have this scar."


    <hr>


    "What happened next?" asked Thamuz, eagerly.


    "Your mother jumped into my arms, and I ran with her towards a castle wall. I broke through it and ran as fast as I could until we reached this settlement. The villagers helped us, and we''ve been here ever since, for forty years. After that, I only heard a few things about that city. Zarakel killed the king and took the throne, having a forced marriage with your maternal grandmother. But it seemed strange to see Zarakel in that form; it looks like he sold his soul to some demon or malevolent entity."


    A noise came from the house. A door opened, and Aolani emerged, carrying heavy luggage with great ease, placing it in a carriage while Tawnylon and Thamuz watched. She turned to greet them.


    "So, why didn''t you fight the king? If you had defeated him, you would have kept his riches. I''m not saying we''re living badly or anything, but it would have been nice to be somewhat rich," said Thamuz, returning his gaze to his father.


    "Your mother agreed with that too. But in our culture, when you defeat or kill a king, you must take his place. I didn¡¯t want that; I didn¡¯t want that much responsibility on my shoulders. However, after knowing your mother for so long, I realized that I truly had something much more valuable than any diamond or coin by my side," said Tawnylon, looking expectantly at Aolani.


    "I see," said Thamuz, turning his gaze to see what his father was referring to.


    Tawnylon looked at the horizon and held his thumb up, noticing the sun was almost setting. He gave a slight sigh and looked back at Thamuz.


    "We have seven hours before the tournament. Go take a good bath and prepare yourself; the journey will be very long," said Tawnylon, rising from the bench.


    Thamuz also stood up and headed towards the house. Before entering, he looked back one last time and saw his father helping his mother with the load. She responded with a kiss on the lips.


    "Much more valuable than any diamond or coin," Thamuz said to himself.


    He entered the house and went upstairs. He entered the bathroom and began pouring hot water with a bucket into the large wooden tub in the center, until it was full. He undressed and slowly entered the water, adapting to the heat.


    "Very relaxing," Thamuz said, expressing a sigh of satisfaction.


    He started playing a bit with the water and saw various jars containing unknown powders on a shelf. He extended his long arm to reach one of them and noticed it had a label.


    "Medhunenia powder, I wonder what it is," said Thamuz, carefully examining the jar.


    He opened the jar and poured a bit of the powder into the water, feeling a chilling cold instantly, but it became more pleasant over time. He placed the jar back on the shelf, stretched his legs until they were out of the tub, closed his eyes, and let his body relax from the physical punishment he had received from his father.


    It was then that he heard something whispering in his ear, something almost inaudible but intensely repeating.


    "My essence," was the whisper he heard.


    Thamuz immediately opened his eyes, looking behind him to see what was making the sound. Seeing nothing, he turned his head back, but saw something that chilled his blood.


    He saw a black figure, with large horns and completely red eyes. It had no mouth and showed various wounds and scars spread across almost its entire body. It had a very prominent wound on its neck, which seemed to have been caused by a sharp object. But what impacted Thamuz the most was its peculiar resemblance to himself.


    The figure remained silent, its red eyes fixed on Thamuz. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he tried to understand what he was seeing. He rubbed his eyes, thinking it might be an illusion caused by the medhunenia powder, but the figure remained there.


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    "Who are you?" asked Thamuz with a trembling voice.


    The figure didn¡¯t respond. Instead, it raised a hand and pointed at Thamuz, its eyes glowing intensely. Suddenly, the room filled with a freezing wind, and Thamuz felt as if the water around him was turning to ice.


    Desperate, Thamuz tried to get out of the tub, but his legs didn¡¯t seem to respond. The figure began to approach, and Thamuz felt his heart pounding. Just as the figure was about to touch him, a bright light filled the room, and the figure disappeared, leaving Thamuz gasping and trembling in the tub.


    Thamuz quickly got up and grabbed a piece of cloth to use as a towel. He ran to his room and looked out the window, seeing his parents still organizing the carriage. Thamuz returned and began to think.


    "Surely the powder from that jar made me hallucinate," he said to himself.


    He tried to find answers in his mind about why that event had happened. The creature looked a lot like him, only it had no mouth and its body was covered in abominable wounds. Meanwhile, Tawnylon also went to the house to bathe.


    Thamuz pulled out several clothes and opted for a simple, somewhat stained gray shirt. He put on pants that looked like loose-fitting trousers, only they were much more rustic and battered. He left his room with several things in his hands for the journey until he encountered his father in the hallway, wet and with a piece of cloth covering him from the waist down.


    "Were you bathing, father?" asked Thamuz.


    "Yes, why?" questioned Tawnylon.


    "Didn''t you see anything there? Something out of the ordinary?" Thamuz asked again.


    "No, why the question? Did you see something?" replied Tawnylon, looking doubtfully at Thamuz.


    "No, nothing. I¡¯m going downstairs to mother," said Thamuz, passing by his father and heading towards the stairs.


    "These young people nowadays," said Tawnylon, with a tone of mockery.


    Thamuz was in the lower part of the house. He went to the kitchen and grabbed some dried meat, which he was eating while looking around. The house was cozy, with several photos of him with his parents, various relics of uncertain but intriguing origin, along with other interesting things, like jars containing unknown minerals of different colors.


    Suddenly, he heard a voice outside.


    "Thamuz!" someone exclaimed.


    It was his mother''s voice. Thamuz devoured the last piece of dried meat in his hands and quickly went to his mother. She was in the carriage, trying to lift a sizeable box. Thamuz approached her and put everything he had in his hands into the carriage.


    "Help me, son, I¡¯m tired of carrying so much," said Aolani, panting while holding her hands on her knees.


    "Right away, mother," said Thamuz.


    Thamuz easily lifted the box with one arm and placed it in the carriage, making a loud noise and demonstrating how heavy it really was. Aolani climbed into the carriage and sat down.


    "Come, son, sit with your mother," said Aolani, gesturing with her hands for Thamuz to come closer.


    Thamuz obeyed and climbed into the carriage, sitting next to her. Aolani gave him a big smile and rested her body beside him.


    "Did your father already tell you the story?" she asked.


    "The one about how you met?" replied Thamuz.


    "Exactly, I saw you both very focused talking," said Aolani.


    "Yes, he told me the story, although it felt a bit summarized," said Thamuz, looking at his mother.


    "It¡¯s much more extensive, but someday we¡¯ll have time to tell you the whole thing. The important thing now is to focus on reaching the great city, so you can fight in the shamonak to death," expressed Aolani, looking at the ground.


    "Speaking of that, why aren¡¯t you worried that I¡¯m going to fight in something that has the word ¡®death¡¯ in it? I always see you so relaxed or serene when talking about the shamonak to death," Thamuz questioned with a tone of intrigue.


    "Of course we¡¯re worried, but we trust you. We know you¡¯re capable of great things, like defeating Zarakel¡¯s son. Besides, you¡¯re the son of the great former shamonak champion, your father. How can we not have confidence in you?" said Aolani, giving playful taps on Thamuz¡¯s arm.


    "I suppose so. It¡¯s comforting to know that, but I can¡¯t stop thinking about it. It will be my first shamonak, a shamonak to death," lamented Thamuz.


    "You know, your father always had a special technique in the shamonak when fighting opponents much larger than him. When they were going to attack, he would duck and, with his palms open, strike their ribs. That move made me fall in love with him. Maybe you should use it against that giant," Aolani recounted, imitating the move.


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    "Thank you for the advice, mother," Thamuz said, hugging her.


    Heavy footsteps were heard behind them. They turned their heads to see what was causing such a sound and noticed Tawnylon, who was carrying another much heavier box and placed it in the carriage, making it sink a bit.


    "I brought several things in case we get hungry on the way," Tawnylon said.


    "Thank you," Aolani and Thamuz said at the same time.


    Tawnylon walked to the front of the carriage, grabbed the front with his arms, and lifted it with ease, making it move along with him.


    "Thamuz, if you want to sleep, go to the back of the carriage. You need to rest enough to give your all in the fight," Tawnylon said, glancing back.


    "Alright, father, wake me up when we get to the great city," Thamuz replied.


    He kissed his mother on the forehead and went to the back of the carriage, where he found some sacks soft and light enough to position his head and feet, letting himself fall into a deep sleep.


    While Thamuz slept, Aolani and Tawnylon exchanged looks of concern and hope. They knew that the shamonak to death would test not only Thamuz''s physical strength but also his spirit and resilience. Aolani settled more comfortably in the carriage, stroking an old bracelet that her husband had given her the day they first met, as a symbol of protection and good fortune.


    "Tawnylon, do you remember how you felt before your first shamonak?" Aolani asked quietly, so as not to wake Thamuz.


    "Like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders," Tawnylon responded, "but I also felt a flame inside me, something that told me I could overcome any challenge. I see that same flame in our son''s eyes."


    The carriage continued its journey, with the moon rising in the sky, illuminating the path with its silver light. In the distance, the sounds of the night blended with the whisper of the wind, creating a natural symphony that accompanied the family on their journey. Aolani, looking at the stars, whispered a silent prayer to Azhamat, asking for protection and strength for her son

 Shamonak origins

    In the dawn of existence, there arose a planet largely destroyed, with only remnants of what was once a giant among various solar systems. A catastrophe extinguished its prosperity and reduced it to rubble. However, a castle remained unyielding to cosmic events: supernovas, cosmic storms, and creatures as gigantic as suns devouring everything in their path. It seemed the castle possessed the qualities of an immortal, indifferent to the forces of the universe.


    Inside, there were shelves made of exotic materials found only in the farthest corners of the universes. These shelves held books, but they were not ordinary books. Each contained millions of pages with meticulous details of every story in the universe, from the life of an ant to the conquests of the most ruthless tyrant of the galaxies.


    In the depths of the castle, a being covered in robes, with rough skin resembling the structure of bones, rested. It had mismatched hands: one beastly with three fingers and the other more humanoid. Its face was covered with eyes that looked in all directions. Sitting in a chair, it had before it a table with a device resembling a pencil, ready to write in a blank book.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see, chapter one, the childhood of Doctor F¡­¡± it murmured, but its words were cut off by a loud crash. It raised its head and saw a dark, undefined figure, like a living shadow, approaching it.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± it asked.


    The figure approached quickly, staring intently. The many-eyed being was momentarily impressed but then averted its gaze.


    ¡°If you want information, you will have to pay a great price for it,¡± it said.


    The dark figure grabbed the being¡¯s neck, lifting it with great force. The many-eyed being began to cough and struggle.


    ¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯ll tell you what you want,¡± it protested.


    It felt immediate relief when the figure released it. It coughed and touched its neck before raising its head and looking at the figure.


    ¡°What do you want to know?¡± it asked.


    The dark figure leaned in and began to whisper words slowly in its ear. The being opened several of its eyes upon hearing those words.


    ¡°Shamonak? You want to know about the origins and history of the shamonak?¡± it asked again.


    The figure nodded.


    ¡°Alright, follow me, I¡¯ll tell you everything in detail,¡± it said, starting to walk towards an old-looking bookshelf. The passage of time had filled it with dust and dirt, but the books remained clean, as if freshly written. It grabbed one of the books and gave it a brief glance.


    It returned to where the figure was and sat in the same chair, placing the book on the table and opening it for the figure to see, then decided to speak:


    Origins of shamonak


    Shamonak is an ancient martial art practiced by the inhabitants of the planet Aldheran, located in the solar system of Aghuman-Khazur. This discipline involves using brute strength optimally, employing various skills and techniques to unbalance or knock down your opponent. But its origins are older and more mysterious than you might imagine.


    Approximately seventy thousand years ago, the planet Aldheran was nearly uninhabitable. Oxygen levels were forty times higher than necessary for life, the seas burned like the fiercest fire, and the sky was covered in red gases, giving the impression it rained blood.


    These extreme conditions spawned abominable beings: the first inhabitants of Aldheran. Gigantic creatures that touched the sky, so strong they could split mountains with a single blow and so terrifying that their mere presence caused indescribable fear.


    Over time, the planet changed significantly. Oxygen levels decreased, the seas remained toxic and burning, but the sky gradually cleared, allowing sunlight to enter. The colossal creatures, though still strong and large, lost some of their abilities, making life somewhat more prosperous.


    From the depths of the caves in the mountains of Aldheran, the ancient thinking inhabitants of Aldheran, the Yhamak, emerged for the first time. They were beings with large horns on their heads, whitish skin, and robust bodies. Upon discovering the outside world, they were terrified by its harshness.


    Initially, they tried to continue living in the caves, but thirst drove them mad, causing them to kill each other to drink blood and satisfy their basic need for water. One day, a gigantic creature fell dead near their caves, a victim of a fierce battle that had destroyed an area equivalent to a continent.


    The ancient inhabitants of Aldheran emerged from their caves to investigate the creature. Its wounds were enormous, and its bones protruded from its body, but what caught their attention the most was a source of blood emanating from one of the wounds. Upon tasting that strange liquid, they noticed it was equivalent to water for them. They began to drink it frantically, making these gigantic creatures their main source to quench their thirst.


    They ventured out of their caves, hunting creatures of small and medium sizes. Over time, they developed hunting techniques that allowed them to take down much larger creatures.


    The gigantic footsteps of the Yhamak were terrifying. In just a few hundred years, they wiped out much of Aldheran¡¯s animal population, causing the surviving creatures to almost disappear from the planet. It is unknown where they spent the rest of their years; they just vanished one day.


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    At first, the Yhamak relied on the body reserves they had, but the blood ran out quickly; the creatures were dry and didn¡¯t yield a drop of that precious liquid. With the crisis present, they resorted to killing their own kind again. It didn¡¯t matter if they were elderly, children, women, or sick; none were safe when a Yhamak was thirsty.


    Then, a very different Yhamak was born. His stature was impressive, and his body resembled a creature¡¯s, with the notable characteristic that one of his hands was a complete claw. No one knew why he was like that. He had grown up to youth with the love of his mother and father, but his family was taken from him by a group of Yhamak who killed their kind to bring the precious blood to their leader. The young boy watched with his own eyes as his family was killed, and his mother¡¯s gaze told him to run.


    He followed his instincts and ran, ran as far as he could until he got lost in unknown regions of the planet. Twenty years passed since that event. The tyranny of that group had terrorized the planet, and only those related to or joined them survived.


    One day, when least expected, a peculiar figure appeared on the horizon. He was tall, over three meters high, with a powerful body that showed fierce training and scars that told different stories. That figure was the boy who had disappeared, now turned into a warrior with a fighting style of his own: shamonak


    This style was not designed to make the weak strong, but to make the already strong even stronger. His imposing power made its presence felt on the planet, immediately defeating the leader of the group that had terrorized the population for so long and freeing his people from oppression.


    Taking on the role of leader, he implemented all the qualities of a great ruler. He established just laws, promoted the prosperity and abundance of his people, and allowed creatures to return to the planet. Though they were still hunted for their blood, it was done to a lesser extent, allowing the planet¡¯s natural cycle to be restored.


    The young warrior, whose name was Yhamataw, married and formed a large family, fathering a total of eighteen children. He taught each one the shamonak, spreading this discipline throughout the planet. However, aware that Aldheran¡¯s true prosperity depended on making the seas drinkable, Yhamataw embarked on a risky mission to the cold zones of the planet, so cold they could freeze bones in seconds.


    Yhamataw


    Aware of the danger, he bid farewell to his wives and children and set out for the icy lands. Upon arrival, he struck the base of one of the biggest ice-covered mountains with an open palm, breaking its base and causing it to fall slowly. With great effort, Yhamataw carried the mountain to the seas. With his last strength, he lifted the mountain as high as he could and threw it into the sea, transforming the color of the seas into a bright blue. People approached to drink the water and discovered it was drinkable.


    Yhamataw, however, remained standing, looking at the horizon without any movement. One of his most loyal friends examined him and noticed his pupils had turned white and his heart was no longer beating; he had died of exhaustion.


    Yhamataw¡¯s descendants fathered numerous children over the millennia, spreading their lineage across Aldheran. However, a devastating plague struck the planet, killing most of Yhamataw¡¯s descendants. This plague, known as the ¡°Blood Scourge,¡± affected most Yhamak, reducing Yhamataw¡¯s proud lineage to only a handful of survivors.


    Only one lineage managed to withstand the plague¡¯s onslaught, thanks to a combination of innate resistance and ancestral wisdom. The most modern and notable representative of this lineage is a Yhamak named Tawnylon.


    Techniques of shamonak


    Yhamataw: Named in honor of the technique that immortalized the name Yhamataw, it is an open-palm strike designed specifically to cause the greatest dispersed damage to the opponent. There are several methods to use it, such as using both hands to increase effectiveness or frenetically striking the opponent with this technique to destabilize them. Although this technique is the simplest, it is said that the most skilled in shamonak were capable of splitting seas in half just by using the yhamataw in the air.


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    During the ''shamonak to death,'' it is said that competitors who mastered the yhamataw were almost invincible, capable of disarming their enemies with a single movement of the hand.


    Suplex: A technique known across all universes, is just as simple as the Yhamataw but tremendously effective. It involves positioning yourself behind the opponent, grabbing their waist, and then pulling them backward with all your strength, causing their head to slam hard against the ground. This technique can be executed in various ways; for example, by pulling your opponent backward and then releasing them, allowing them to fly several meters and cause significant damage upon impact.


    Heart shatter: A dangerous move primarily used in life-or-death situations. The one who employs this technique tries to drive their fingers into the chest of their opponent, aiming to reach their heart. If the technique proves effective, it can squeeze the heart of the opponent or, with a simple movement, stop the blood circulation, causing the recipient of the damage to be knocked out immediately. This technique is typically prohibited in normal shamonak matches and can only be used in shamonak to the death competitions.


    Bhatzaran: A stomp that makes the whole skeleton tremble, it is used to intimidate the opponent or also for body conditioning. It is used in combat when the opponent is on the ground: the leg is raised along with the foot and brought down with full force, trying to hit an unprotected part of the body, such as the chest or head. With enough training, it is capable of making the ground shake, destabilizing the opponent.


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    Ghokmeran: One of the most devastating moves in shamonak involves charging towards the opponent and ramming them with the shoulder. The timing and speed of impact are akin to being struck by a one-ton beast at over two hundred kilometers per hour, enough to fracture the entire skeleton of anyone unlucky enough to be hit by this technique.


    Tomaketan: The last known technique of shamonak, and the most difficult to learn and master, involves positioning oneself in front of the opponent to leverage grip strength and grab their back, sinking the fingers into their spine. Then, the opponent is lifted, and with a small jump, their head is slammed against the ground. This technique is extremely challenging due to the proximity to the opponent and the resistance they can offer. Feared for its ability to leave an opponent defenseless and gravely injured with a single move, it demonstrates the intensity and skill required to excel in shamonak.


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    "Even if my bones are broken, even if my heart stops its rhythm, my body will still fight, against everyone who dares to defy my path, against everyone who wishes for my burning flame to be extinguished. "


    -Shamonak oath

 Chapter 5: the great moment

    A dream was beginning to take shape: a demon and a creature resembling an angel stood on a vast battlefield, on a colossal planet. Both looked at each other with threatening auras. The angel floated in the air while the demon stood firm on the ground, assuming a combat stance. Suddenly, the angel launched a massive energy blast from its arm, while the demon waited patiently, extending its hands to receive the impact.


    "Son, wake up, we''re almost there," a voice was heard.


    Thamuz woke up immediately, feeling the sun''s rays illuminating his face, almost blinding him.


    "It''s already morning," said Aolani.


    "You can really tell," Thamuz replied, rubbing his eyes.


    "Grab some food, it''s in the boxes I placed earlier," Tawnylon said, turning his head slightly to glance at them.


    Aolani approached one of the boxes and opened the lid, taking out some dried meat along with bread and cheese.


    "Here, son, I''m sure you must be hungry," Aolani said, handing the food to Thamuz.


    Thamuz eagerly took the food, making a small sandwich with the meat, bread, and cheese. He prepared another one for his mother and handed it to her.


    "Thank you," she said.


    Thamuz was so focused on eating that he didn''t notice where they were. It looked like a village devastated by death itself. Crops were rotten, houses destroyed, and occasionally, bones from various creatures could be seen scattered on the ground.


    "What kind of things did that bastard do when he got the title of king?" Tawnylon muttered to himself, looking around.


    They left the village, and Tawnylon saw a large city in the distance, covered by a wall that easily surpassed fifty meters in height, reinforced with the hardest materials on the planet.


    "Look, son, that''s the great city," Tawnylon said, pointing to Thamuz.


    Thamuz turned his head to observe the city, impressed by its size and the wall that stood like a giant protector. The city seemed like an impenetrable fortress, its towers disappearing into the sky, and the shine of its buildings reflected a glorious past now submerged in decay.


    "Is that where the shamonak to death will take place?" Thamuz asked, curious.


    "Yes, although it used to look much better, it looked alive," Tawnylon replied, with a melancholic tone.


    They arrived at the city gates, which were gigantic and opened slowly due to their great weight. Inside, there were guards dressed in rather normal armor, nothing out of the ordinary, but their weapons looked different, much more modern.


    "Why have you come and what do you want to do in the city?" one of the guards asked.


    "We came for our son to participate in the shamonak to death. He''s a special guest of the king," Tawnylon replied.


    The guards looked at Tawnylon for a few seconds, then shifted their gaze to the carriage, observing Aolani and Thamuz.


    "Damn!" exclaimed one of the guards, startled by Thamuz''s appearance.


    "Is that your son?" another guard asked, pointing with his finger.


    "Yes, any problem with him?" Tawnylon asked.


    "No, no, not at all. Good luck in the shamonak. I''m sure he''ll make it through all the rounds," he replied.


    "Rounds? What rounds?" Tawnylon asked again.


    "Let them pass!" the guard exclaimed.


    Tawnylon looked at him confused, but continued on, gripping the carriage more firmly and moving forward slowly.


    Inside the city, Thamuz began to observe his surroundings. It was magnificent. People walked everywhere, dressed in colorful clothes; others wore clothes similar to his. Markets overflowed with diverse products with different uses. For example, there was a blue flame that, if you poured water on it and named an object, could make that object appear and materialize in reality.


    "Incredible," Thamuz murmured to himself.


    Suddenly, the carriage stopped, causing Aolani and Thamuz to sway in their seats.


    "What happened, dear?" Aolani asked, concerned.


    Up front, Tawnylon was looking down at a man lying on the ground.


    "Oh, I''m sorry sir, I didn''t see you," Tawnylon said, bending down to help the man.


    The middle-aged man got up slowly, rubbing his head.


    "What, can''t you watch where you''re going, you damn brute?" said the man, raising his head.


    The man''s eyes fixed on Tawnylon, who stood in front of him. Seeing his face, his eyes widened.


    "Tawnylon?" the man asked, incredulous.


    "Armesto?" Tawnylon replied, recognizing him too.


    "Tawnylon!" Armesto exclaimed, getting up quickly and hugging him tightly.


    "Armesto!" Tawnylon shouted, returning the hug with equal enthusiasm.


    Thamuz watched as his father hugged the man, puzzled by their familiarity. He looked at his mother and asked:


    "Who''s the man hugging dad?"


    "He''s Armesto, your father''s childhood friend. We thought he was dead when we fled this city," Aolani replied.


    "Long time no see, friend!" both friends said, still hugging, tears streaming from their eyes.


    Finally, they separated and looked at each other. Armesto lightly punched Tawnylon''s chest with his palm and began to laugh.


    "I thought you wouldn''t come back. Since you left, I haven''t heard from you," Armesto said, smiling.


    "We had to hide very well. We didn''t know if Zarakel would hold a grudge against us," explained Tawnylon.


    "Well, tell me, what made you come back? Are you planning to participate in the shamonak to death?" Armesto asked, curious.


    "I would if I were a little younger, but it''s something much more special. My son will participate in the shamonak to death," Tawnylon replied.


    "Your son? You finally had a son? What a miracle! Where is he? I want to see him," Armesto said, excitedly.


    Tawnylon nodded slightly, indicating to his friend that his son was in the carriage. Armesto became greatly excited and headed toward where his friend pointed, but he was startled to see Thamuz with his peculiar appearance, staring at him with those black and red eyes. Thamuz raised his hand in greeting, and Armesto slowly walked backward, returning to Tawnylon.


    "I think there''s a demon in your carriage," Armesto whispered in Tawnylon''s ear.


    Tawnylon chuckled and placed a reassuring hand on Armesto''s shoulder.


    "Easy there, friend. This is my son, Thamuz. His appearance may be striking, but he''s a good lad."


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    "By Azhamat, Tawnylon, I know you''re not the violent type or anything, but I''m sure you were mad when you were doing it," Armesto said, with a bit of sarcasm in his voice.


    Tawnylon laughed again, and so did Armesto. They both stopped and Tawnylon indicated that Thamuz posed no danger.


    "Really, Armesto, you have nothing to worry about. Thamuz is a good kid," Tawnylon said, patting his friend on the back.


    Armesto, still a bit nervous, gathered his courage and approached Thamuz again.


    "Sorry for my reaction, young man. It''s a pleasure to meet you," Armesto said, extending his hand.


    Thamuz shook Armesto''s hand firmly and nodded.


    "The pleasure is mine," Thamuz replied, trying to smile to ease the tension.


    Armesto glanced at Tawnylon and Aolani, surprised but impressed by Thamuz''s presence.


    "There must be an interesting story behind this young man," Armesto said, trying to understand the situation.


    "Yes, friend. Many stories to tell, but first we need to find a place to park our carriage," Tawnylon replied.


    "Come, I invite you to my house. It has enough space to store your carriage," Armesto suggested.


    "Thank you, friend," Tawnylon said.


    Armesto led them down the road, occasionally chatting with Tawnylon about the time that had passed until they arrived at the house. The house was very large, surrounded by well-tended vegetation and with a settlement behind it that contained several animals.


    "Wow, how did you get such a mansion?" Tawnylon said, looking at the house in amazement.


    "Now I am the one who organizes the shamonak fights instead of fighting them. Really, you realize how much effort I was making to win a few coins in comparison to those who only see and organize everything," Armesto replied, walking to his house.


    They arrived at the house and Armesto opened a large door, revealing a spacious area to Tawnylon. He instructed his wife and son to disembark, and they obeyed. He parked the carriage in that space and let out a deep sigh.


    Stepping out, he looked around, observing Thamuz and Aolani, then turning his gaze toward the house.


    "Come on in, make yourselves at home," Armesto said, opening the doors to his home.


    Thamuz and Aolani followed Tawnylon and Armesto inside. The interior was even more impressive: large windows let in natural light that illuminated carefully selected decorations. The walls were adorned with brightly colored tapestries and paintings that seemed to recount stories of ancient battles and festivities.


    "You have a beautiful home," Aolani said, admiring the place.


    "Thank you, Aolani. We''ve worked hard to make it comfortable and inviting," Armesto replied, with a proud smile.


    Thamuz walked around in awe, examining every detail. He noticed a large library in one of the rooms, filled with ancient books and scrolls. He approached to investigate, feeling an irresistible attraction to the knowledge those books might contain.


    A woman descended the stairs, wearing a white dress that moved with the wind. She had a notable feature: a broken horn on her forehead.


    "Hello, love, did you bring guests?" the woman asked, finishing her descent.


    "Yes, do you remember Tawnylon? My childhood friend," Armesto said, approaching the woman.


    Armesto and the woman exchanged a passionate kiss, with the woman extending a long tongue from her mouth and playing with Armesto''s mouth. Thamuz watched the scene somewhat disturbed, while Aolani and Tawnylon watched them with tenderness.


    "That''s how we used to do it when we were young," Aolani and Tawnylon said with a nostalgic tone.


    Armesto and the woman stopped kissing and stood in front of Tawnylon and Aolani. Armesto introduced his wife.


    "This is Yakrare, daughter of the sixth richest man in this city. She''s also my wife, my beloved," Armesto said, looking tenderly at Yakrare.


    "I always knew you liked to go big," Tawnylon said sarcastically.


    Thamuz didn''t pay much attention to the adults'' conversations and continued exploring the house, discovering new things with every step. His eyes focused on a gigantic shelf containing various relics and trophies. He approached to get a better look and was impressed.


    There were different belts and trophies inscribed with the word "shamonak," each bearing a number that was always present: the number three.


    "It looks beautiful, don''t you think?" a voice behind him said.


    Thamuz turned and saw a young man, probably around his age, with a similar appearance to Yakrare. He had a small broken horn and an air of confidence.


    "Yes, they''re impressive," Thamuz replied. "Are you...?"


    "I''m Narek, Armesto and Yakrare''s son," the young man said, extending his hand. "I see you''ve found my father''s trophy collection."


    Thamuz shook Narek''s hand, noting the firmness of his grip.


    "Your father has won many shamonaks, hasn''t he?" Thamuz asked.


    "That''s right. He was one of the best. Though he always got third place, he fought in a way worthy of legends," Narek said proudly.


    "I see. I hope I can at least match him," Thamuz said, determination in his voice.


    "Are you going to participate in the shamonak to death?" Narek asked.


    "Yes, I have to fight against the king''s son," Thamuz replied.


    "Gigantino!" Narek exclaimed, immediately covering his mouth.


    "Gigantino," Thamuz said in a low voice.


    "Yeah, he looks big, but I don''t think there''s any problem in beating him. He seems like an idiot," Thamuz said, chuckling lightly.


    "Yeah, I won''t deny that, but Gigantino is too strong. I''ve seen his fights and most of them end with the opponent in the first blow, if not playing with it," Narek recounted, worried.


    "Nonsense. I will defeat him with a blow," Thamuz said, making a gesture with his palm.


    "That''s what the last person who faced him said. Gigantino left it so damaged that they had to collect it with a shovel. It took three hours to collect everything that was left of him," Narek said, expressing disgust on his face.


    "Surely he did not use special techniques to face Gigantino, which I will. I will duck and hit him with both palms in the ribs," Thamuz continued arguing.


    "Your arrogance makes me somewhat concerned, but well, for your height and the way you have your body, maybe you have some opportunity. I would say that a seven percent chance, and being generous," Narek said, turning back and starting to walk.


    "Hey, wait, where are you going?" Thamuz asked.


    ¡ª"Well, I''m going outside. I want to soak up some sun," Narek replied.


    ¡ª"Can I join you?"


    "Well, I don''t see why not."


    Thamuz and Narek went outside, where the sun shone brightly and the fresh air filled their lungs. They walked through Armesto''s house gardens, surrounded by lush vegetation and vibrant flowers.


    "How do you know so much about Gigantino?" Thamuz asked, breaking the silence.


    "I''ve been in almost every shamonak fight since my father started organizing them. I''ve seen many fighters face off and fall before Gigantino. He''s a fearsome opponent," Narek replied, looking at the horizon.


    "That just motivates me even more, besides, I have a goal in mind for when I defeat him," Thamuz said, looking equally at the horizon.


    "What is it?" Narek asked, intrigued.


    "To free a friend of mine. I just met him for a few minutes, but his eyes told me a whole story, a story of suffering and pain," Thamuz replied.


    "What''s his name?" he asked again.


    "Shandam, that''s his name," Thamuz replied.


    "Shandam? I think I''ve seen him. Gigantino always takes him for a walk like he''s a creature by the city, with a collar and leash around his neck," Narek recounted.


    Thamuz was silent for a moment, lowering his gaze a little, and in a serious tone said, "That giant is going to fall."


    "Thamuz, Narek!" a voice shouted from behind.


    The two boys turned their heads and saw their parents calling them, they immediately went to them.


    "I see you''ve been getting to know each other, it''s a great pleasure that our families are joining forces right now," Armesto said.


    "Yes, he''s been telling me a bit about his future fight with Gigantino," Narek commented.


    Armesto slowly stopped smiling, turned his head towards Tawnylon, and he did the same.


    "Is your son going to fight against Gigantino?" he asked.


    "That''s what I was going to tell you," Tawnylon replied.


    "It can''t be, Tawnylon, you can''t send the boy against him, I thought he was only going to fight a few rounds and that was it," Armesto said, worried.


    "It''s really much more complex. But what do you mean by rounds?" he asked Tawnylon


    "Zarakel changed the rules at the last moment. I thought Gigantino was going to fight some random person, but now it turns out to be in rounds. Your son will have to fight against several unknown fighters," Armesto replied.


    "I always knew Zarakel was a coward, but not like this. He wants to put rounds on my son so that he''s tired and injured when he has to fight Gigantino," Aolani protested, visibly upset.


    "He was the one who wanted a direct fight, but look at him now, he had to resort to a dishonorable method," Tawnylon protested equally.


    "You can''t make those rounds disappear, can you?" Aolani asked desperately, putting her arms on Armesto''s shoulders.


    Armesto took Aolani''s hands and slowly started to remove them from his shoulders, giving her a look of pity and looking away.


    "If I had known in advance that your son was the one who would fight, I would have done everything possible to match him with weak opponents, but now it''s too late. Zarakel would have my head if I changed his strongest fighters at the last moment," Armesto explained, looking Aolani in the eyes.


    Aolani looked into his eyes as well, knowing he wanted to help them, but couldn''t because of his position. She lowered her hands, freeing herself from Armesto''s grip, and went to her husband, embracing him.


    "Let''s trust Thamuz. I taught him the shamonak very well," Tawnylon said, trying to comfort Aolani.


    Thamuz watched with confusion everything that was happening, only understanding some parts of what they were saying. He approached Armesto and whispered in his ear:


    "What do the rounds mean?"


    "It means you''ll have to fight a different wrestler every day, the strongest ones Zarakel has at his disposal, each one stronger than the last," Armesto replied.


    Thamuz listened to the answer, trying to process it. As he understood what it meant, he made a grimace, eyes wide open.


    "Will I be able to fight more?" he asked.


    "That''s the idea," Armesto replied.


    Tawnylon watched how Thamuz reacted to Armesto''s response, a slight smile forming on his face. He admired the new fighting spirit Thamuz had developed. He looked down and saw Aolani shedding some tears.


    "You need to rest a bit, son. Your first shamonak match will start in five hours," Tawnylon said, approaching Thamuz with Aolani.


    "I will, father, but where are the beds?" Thamuz asked.


    "Come with me, I''ll show you where they are," Yakrare said, gesturing for Thamuz to follow.


    Thamuz obeyed and went with her. They climbed some stairs and found themselves in a hallway with several rooms.


    "Pick whichever room you want," Yakrare said, turning to leave.


    "Thank you," Thamuz replied as he walked towards the rooms.


    He examined each room and chose the one on the left, in the middle. It seemed to be the most comfortable and cozy, with a gigantic bed that was bigger than Thamuz and Tawnylon combined.


    Thamuz dropped his body onto the bed, and it did not break, cushioning his weight and softening like cotton. Thamuz lay on his back and raised his hand to the ceiling.


    "I will defeat them all," he said.


    He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

 Chapter 6: broken skull (first day of shamonak to death)

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    An hour remained before the first fight would begin. Thamuz and all his companions prepared themselves, heading towards the Shamonak arena. They traveled in a luxurious carriage, hired by Armesto thanks to his great wealth as the organizer of the Shamonak fights. They arrived at the outskirts of the combat arena, and the air was palpable with anticipation.


    They disembarked from the carriage with elegance. Tawnylon helped Aolani down while Thamuz dismounted with an agile leap. Armesto and his family descended slowly, one by one. The majesty of the place was impressive, and the buzz of the crowd heightened the excitement of the moment.


    "Doesn''t this bring back good memories, Tawnylon?" Armesto asked, with a nostalgic smile.


    "Some good, some bad," Tawnylon replied, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.


    They walked towards the entrance, only to be stopped by imposing guards who extended their palms towards them.


    "Tickets!" the guards demanded, their voices firm.


    "Tickets? What are you talking about?" Aolani questioned, confused.


    "To see the Shamonak to death, you need tickets," the guards explained, without losing their composure.


    Armesto stepped forward and positioned himself in front of them.


    "They are with me," he said with authority.


    The guards'' eyes widened in surprise, and they withdrew their palms, kneeling and lowering their heads in the presence of Armesto.


    "Forgive us, sir, we didn''t know," they said, in a respectful tone.


    "It''s fine, stand up, let us pass, and I''ll forget all about this," Armesto replied, condescendingly.


    Thamuz watched as Armesto spoke with the guards. He looked around, noticing the crowd entering the arena. Some carried flags and banners with the faces of unknown fighters, clearly fans supporting their favorites.


    "Incredible," Thamuz murmured to himself.


    Armesto turned and signaled for him to come closer. Thamuz obeyed, approaching him.


    "Look, Thamuz, since you''ll be a fighter, you can''t come with us. You''ll have to go with these guards to the fighters'' quarters where you''ll prepare," Armesto said, placing a hand on Thamuz''s shoulder.


    "Alright, get the seats that give you the best view of my fight," Thamuz said, excitedly.


    "Of course we will, I''ll get the best seats in the arena," Armesto assured.


    Thamuz went to his parents and gave them one last hug. Tawnylon and Aolani waved goodbye as they entered the arena with Armesto and his family. The guards, intrigued by Thamuz''s peculiar appearance, walked alongside him. His height nearly matched theirs, and his prominent horns and blackened skin drew attention.


    "I''ve never seen one like this," one guard whispered to another.


    "Me neither, I think he''s the special guest the king mentioned," his companion replied.


    Thamuz observed the paths they passed through. They were enormous cells housing creatures and abominable beings.


    "What is this place?" Thamuz asked.


    "This is where the king keeps his most fearsome beasts. From Mhonktans to Bhayumans. He keeps them here as part of his collection or for his shows. You''re lucky to be facing beings like us," a guard explained.


    "I see. Are there more cells with regular people too?" Thamuz asked, curious.


    "Yes, you''ll see them further ahead," the guards responded.


    They continued walking until they reached a space with smaller cells. Thamuz saw beings similar to his parents, in a deplorable state, with skin clinging to their bones.


    "Wait here, they''ll come to paint you for the fight soon," the guards said before leaving.


    Thamuz sat on a wooden chair in the center of the space. The shouts and cheers of the crowd could be heard in the distance.


    "I think this is an entrance to the arena," he said to himself.


    A voice emerged from his right:


    "Hey friend, do you have any food?" asked a gaunt prisoner.


    "No, I don''t have anything. I''d give you something if I had it," Thamuz replied.


    "I see. It''s always like this with the new fighters. They come in with nothing and leave with riches and abundance. What rubbish," the man commented bitterly.


    "Riches?" Thamuz said, surprised. "I thought it was just about fighting."


    "That''s what I thought in my first fight too. I won and was flooded with abundance until I lost a fight and lost everything," the man recounted.


    Thamuz reflected on his words, staring at the prisoner before returning his gaze forward, sighing.


    "If what you say is true, I''ll buy food for you all. After all, I think I''ll be coming here more often," Thamuz said.


    "Bring something for me too," another voice said.


    "Me too," more voices started to resonate.


    "Silence!" a guard''s voice was heard, making everyone fall silent immediately.


    The creak of a door interrupted the silence. Thamuz looked back and saw a woman covered in a worn red robe, limping with a brown bowl containing a thick liquid.


    "Don''t take too long painting him," the guard said, closing the door forcefully.


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    The woman approached Thamuz, dipping her fingers in the bowl while reciting unintelligible words. Thamuz noticed she had several bruises and a black eye, her lips swollen and scars on her cheeks.


    "What happened to you?" Thamuz asked.


    The woman paused and stopped reciting.


    "I was punished for not obeying," she replied sadly.


    "Who did it?" Thamuz asked again.


    "The king''s torturers. They always beat me for the slightest thing, even for breathing too loudly," she recounted, melancholically.


    Thamuz saw the sadness on her face and looked away towards the light entering the place.


    "Let''s talk about something else. Do you have family?" Thamuz questioned, trying to change the subject.


    The woman looked around and leaned towards Thamuz''s ear, whispering almost in a murmur.


    "I have a son who is alone in my cell. He''s only five years old and doesn''t even know why he''s locked up."


    "How cruel. I''m only six years old; I can''t imagine what it would feel like to be locked up at such a young age," Thamuz whispered empathetically.


    "Six years old? You look like a full-grown adult," the woman exclaimed, noticeably surprised by Thamuz''s revelation.


    "That''s what my parents tell me too. I look and act older. Even people outside are surprised by my appearance," Thamuz recounted.


    "I see. But what is someone as young as you doing in these fights? Aren''t you scared or nervous?" she asked.


    "Scared? No. Nervous? A little. It''s my first fight. I just hope to make a good impression," Thamuz replied.


    "You''re brave, I can see that. I hope I can meet you again if you survive," the woman said, finishing painting Thamuz.


    Thamuz stood up from his chair, moving towards the sunlight and looking at his body. He had several red paint marks, some forming circles and others claws.


    "What do these paintings mean?" he asked.


    "They symbolize power, intimidation, bravery, and determination. They''ve been used since the ancient Shamonak fights. They also help to differentiate you from your opponent," the woman explained.


    "I like how they look. Thank you very much," Thamuz said, extending his hand towards her.


    "You''re welcome," she responded, shaking his hand.


    A giant ramp began to unfold, rumbling loudly as it hit the ground. The sunlight poured into the room more intensely, momentarily blinding Thamuz.


    "It''s your time, fighter. Give it your best," said one of the prisoners.


    Thamuz looked at the prisoner and thanked him. He walked slowly towards the light and stepped onto the ramp, reaching the top. The light no longer blinded him, but something made his eyes widen in amazement: a gigantic arena, with thousands of spectators watching and cheering for him.


    "So this is the Shamonak a muerte arena," Thamuz said to himself.


    He advanced to the central part of the arena, seeing a red circle next to a much larger blue line. Tawnylon and the others were in the highest part of the arena, with a great view of Thamuz, who waved to them.


    "Look, there''s your son. He''s waving at us," said Armesto, sinking into a chair.


    Tawnylon and Aolani noticed and waved back at Thamuz, then sat down with Armesto and his family.


    "He looks very enthusiastic, as if he isn''t afraid," Aolani said.


    "I never saw him afraid when I was teaching him about Shamonak," added Tawnylon.


    Tawnylon looked to his side and saw someone. It was Zarakel, dressed in fine gray robes, without his armor, showing his muscular body and prominent horns. He was in special stands, reclining on a golden couch with embedded gems, burning some herbs and then inhaling them.


    "Look who''s over there," pointed Tawnylon.


    "It looks like he''s enjoying it a lot," Aolani noted.


    Another ramp began to open, releasing dense black smoke with a distinct smell of death. Thamuz saw this, placing his palms on his forehead and squinting.


    "Who will come out of there now?" he wondered to himself.


    A deafening roar was heard, revealing a huge creature. It was a Yhamak about two meters and ten centimeters tall. Its long arms were covered with spikes, it was completely bald, and its horns looked like knives. Its jaw was heavily armored, and its green eyes looked like the most potent poison.


    "What a beast," Thamuz said.


    Aolani looked at the creature with concern, turning her head to Armesto.


    "What is that thing?" she asked.


    "That thing is called Bhogtan. It was a Yhamak like us who practiced Shamonak, until he decided to experiment with dubious substances to increase his combat effectiveness. They mutated him into that horrible thing. He has a record of twenty wins and zero losses, killing seven of his opponents," Armesto responded.


    "Oh, by Azhamat! By Azhamat!" Aolani exclaimed in her mind.


    "I don''t know why Zarakel sent one of his best fighters for Thamuz''s first fight. He must really be desperate to see him fall," said Armesto, looking at Tawnylon.


    Tawnylon was coldly observing Thamuz''s opponent, calculating the situation.


    "His entire body is a weapon, from his arms to his head. I''d go for his chest; it''s the least protected part," he murmured to himself.


    A guard blew the trumpet, making the entire audience fall silent. A tall, skinny figure, with a cloak covering his entire body, appeared with a scroll that he began to read.


    "Welcome everyone to the ninetieth Shamonak to death, sponsored by our acclaimed and eternal king, Zarakel," the figure said, pointing his hand towards Zarakel.


    The audience applauded Zarakel, cheering him with gratitude. Zarakel raised his hand in thanks and showed a slight smile.


    "This fight will not be like any other. It will be something special, something our king has suggested. There will be five rounds, five fighters, for one person: the son of the former Shamonak champion, Tawnylon. Presenting...," he paused his speech for a moment, looking at the scroll, "Thamuz?"


    Everyone fell silent. Only Tawnylon and Aolani had the courage to support him and shout his name, while the others looked at them strangely.


    "What a weird name, kid," said the figure.


    "My father gave it to me," Thamuz responded.


    "And now, the favorite of all, Bhogtan, the creature of the dusk. With twenty wins and zero losses, he stands victorious against his new opponent. Will he be a worthy opponent for his fury and madness? Will he be just a new toy for him? You will see all that now."


    The figure closed the scroll and left the arena while the audience shouted with excitement for the upcoming fight. The sunlight indicated it was morning. Trumpets began to play, with the crowd chanting words unknown to Thamuz, while Bhogtan performed a kind of dance, reciting the same words.


    "Admesh, aidan, bahkten, ushadar, gritennen, bakatan, yhamataw, bishamarr, yhakutan shamonak YA!" Bhogtan exclaimed with great voices as he danced.


    "It''s been a long time since I''ve seen the Shamonak preparation dance," Tawnylon said, watching with luminous eyes.


    "Me neither," added Armesto.


    The trumpets stopped playing, and Zarakel stood up, carrying some herbs and placing them in front of him.


    "May Yhamataw and Azhamat decide the outcome of this fight!" he exclaimed loudly, crushing the herbs in his hands.


    The trumpets gave a final sound, indicating that the fight had begun. Bhogtan immediately assumed a low position, resembling an animal''s pose, while Thamuz slightly lowered his back, positioning his hands in front of him, watching Bhogtan''s movements intently.


    "I''ll kill you. I''ll break you. I''ll make you suffer. I''ll rip out your spine and whip you with it. I''ll tear all the skin off your body," Bhogtan said with a sadistic voice.


    Thamuz kept watching him closely, walking slowly around him, until Bhogtan decided to make the first move and ran frantically towards him.


    "I''ll kill you!" he shouted loudly.


    Thamuz observed the way Bhogtan approached. He saw that his chest was unprotected and took the opportunity to dodge his charge, using an open-palm strike so strong that it caused a sonic impact on Bhogtan''s chest, immediately knocking the wind out of him and breaking his ribs.


    Bhogtan stood motionless, saliva flowing from his mouth, staring at Thamuz. Thamuz took advantage of his palm being only a few centimeters from Bhogtan''s chest and grabbed his skin, throwing him with great force backward. Bhogtan''s head slammed against the ground, making a horrible sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing.


    The entire audience fell silent, even Zarakel, who watched with wide eyes what Thamuz had done. He had defeated one of his best fighters with just two moves.


    "That''s how it''s done, son!" Tawnylon exclaimed with overwhelming joy, hugging Aolani tightly.


    Everyone in the arena began shouting Thamuz''s name, cheering and raising their arms in admiration. Thamuz raised his right arm towards the sky, shouting with emotion.


    "My first Shamonak fight!"


    The hooded figure returned to the center of the arena and, with an imposing voice, announced:


    "The winner of the first fight is Thamuz!"


    The audience erupted in cheers. Thamuz, still panting from the effort, looked around, feeling the euphoria and adrenaline coursing through his body.


    From his position, Zarakel watched attentively. A malicious smile appeared on his face as he contemplated the scene.


    "Just like his father," he murmured to himself.

 Chapter 7: Calm

    "Do you think he will survive?" asked a combat arena doctor to his companion.


    "I don''t know, his head seems to be lodged very deeply in the ground," responded his companion, his voice laden with concern.


    "I''ve only seen a few people with the strength to do that to Bhogtan, yet he always gets up," added the doctor, trying to maintain hope.


    The doctor and his companion were examining Bhogtan''s body, who was still in the arena, his legs floating in the air and his arms stretched out on the ground.


    "Did you see how his opponent grabbed him by the chest? His strength seems comparable to the strongest fighters," said his companion, recalling the brutality of the fight.


    "Yes, I saw it. He grabbed him by the skin, almost tearing it off," said the doctor, squatting down and placing his hand on Bhogtan''s chest, feeling the faint beat of his heart.


    "What do you think of all this? Have you ever seen anything like it?" asked his companion, visibly shocked.


    "No, honestly, I haven''t," replied the doctor, turning his head to see Thamuz climbing the stairs to meet his family. "It will really be magnificent to see him in combat again."


    Thamuz reached his destination and rushed to embrace his father and mother, hugging them tightly.


    "I did it! I did it! I won my first Shamonak fight!" he exclaimed joyfully.


    "We saw it, son! We are so proud of you!" exclaimed Tawnylon and Aolani equally joyfully.


    Armesto approached them and grabbed Thamuz''s shoulders, shaking him firmly.


    "That''s how it''s done, you really shone in your first fight. Now people are starting to adore you," said Armesto, showing a wide smile on his face.


    Zarakel watched the celebration taking place for Thamuz''s victory. He clenched his fist and headed to his quarters, throwing the herbs he carried along the way.


    "That boy really looked strong," said a voice in the darkness.


    "Yes, he surprised me a lot. I thought Bhogtan would gut him in seconds," said Zarakel, looking in the direction of the voice.


    It was Tyranta, who was almost naked, with only a piece of tunic covering her private parts. She was leaning against a wall, staring intently at Zarakel.


    "How is Gigantino?" asked Zarakel.


    "He''s sleeping. Today he played a lot with that slave who regenerates quickly. He was a good purchase for our son," she said, diverting her gaze to the left.


    "I thought he would be training his Shamonak," said Zarakel, approaching her.


    "You know how he is. He trains for about twenty minutes and then says he''s bored. Although, it hasn''t really affected him. After all, his strength could be comparable to Tawnylon''s," recounted Tyranta, approaching as well.


    "Of course his strength must be comparable to his. We spent a lot of time creating him, a lot of time where we let our flesh fuse into one, into our legacy," said Zarakel, standing in front of her.


    "I still remember that. What if we create another much stronger? One taller and fiercer than the one we have now," said Tyranta, placing a finger on Zarakel''s lips.


    Zarakel pushed her onto the bed and began to undress, pulling out four tentacles from his back and showing them in front of Tyranta''s face.


    "You don''t know how much I hate you," he said.


    "I feel the same," she responded.


    Meanwhile, Thamuz was leaving the arena with all his companions. Armesto called for a nearby carriage, which headed towards them.


    Tawnylon entered with Aolani, while Armesto and his family entered next, Thamuz being the last to enter.


    The journey home was filled with stories and tales that Tawnylon and Armesto told Thamuz about their days in the Shamonak, how they defeated their rivals, and how strong they were in their youth. Thamuz admired every story they told, making his passion for combat grow even more.


    "So your father grabbed the guy by the neck and hit him with his palm so hard it broke his neck," recounted Armesto.


    "I only did it because that guy touched Aolani inappropriately, who at that time was my girlfriend," added Tawnylon, stroking Aolani''s shoulder.


    "Yes, of course. I still remember when you made innocent eyes every time you saw her in her castle, while the moon made her skin shine," said Armesto, with a slight sarcastic tone.


    The carriage had arrived at Armesto''s house, which was illuminated by the interior lights, giving a warm welcome to its owners. They got off the carriage and noticed it was almost night.


    "The stars look beautiful," Thamuz noticed.


    They headed towards the doors, and Armesto extended his palm gently, making them open immediately. They entered the house and began to settle in.


    "Is there any mhonktan left, love?" asked Armesto.


    "There are about seven tons of meat left, should I start cooking it?" asked Yakrare.


    "Yes, please," responded Armesto.


    Yakrare took agile steps towards what appeared to be a storeroom. He took out large pieces of meat that measured the same as Tawnylon, who was impressed to see the size of the meat.


    "How do you have so much mhonktan?" asked Tawnylon, intrigued.


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    "Do you know the animals behind the house? Well, they are mhonktan. You have to raise them from a young age to make them very tame, so tame that you can kill them and cook them," responded Armesto, showing a slight smile.


    "I see, it really is something ingenious. I recently managed to kill one and cook it. It really has an exquisite taste and its meat is very tender," added Tawnylon.


    Thamuz was walking around the house, observing the different spaces that made it up. There were rooms that seemed to have a sauna inside, while others had pools so large and deep that they caused dizziness to anyone who looked at them.


    Thamuz observed each room, fascinated by the interesting things he found, but gave up feeling very tired. His head was wobbling, and his arms felt heavy.


    "Anxiety really made me tired," he said to himself.


    He was going to his room to sleep, but he saw something in a window. Outside, the stars and the sky looked too enchanting. The stars shone a purple color, and the sky was filled with cosmic dust, like clouds that dazzled the entire splendor of the sky.


    "Well, staying a while to look at the stars wouldn''t hurt," Thamuz said.


    Thamuz went out the window and landed on the ground without problems in the backyard of the house. He headed to the center and saw a body of water that resembled a pool. He sat on the black grass, putting his arms back and enjoying the beautiful view of the sky.


    "It''s beautiful," he said.


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    "Hello, champion, what are you doing here alone?" asked Narek.


    "Nothing, I was going to sleep, but I couldn''t miss this view," said Thamuz, turning his head back to look at the sky.


    "I see, it really is a beautiful view," said Narek, sitting on the grass.


    "What are you doing here? I thought you''d be with your parents," asked Thamuz.


    "Well, they''re making food, talking about their pasts and everything that''s happened since your parents left. You know, the usual. I came here with some food while they finish doing whatever they want," said Narek, offering Thamuz a piece of food.


    "Thanks," said Thamuz, taking it in his hand.


    Thamuz examined the food Narek had given him. It looked like a kind of organic capsule, with a grayish color and an exterior that was hard but manageable, like rubber.


    "What is this?" asked Thamuz.


    "It''s called ghongon, the eggs of a bhatrak, a kind of winged creature with scales as hard as rock. Normally it''s cooked, but it can also be eaten raw; it''s even eaten as a dessert because of the sweet flavor of the yolk," explained Narek, giving his ghongon a light touch.


    "So, how do you break it to eat it?" asked Thamuz, examining the egg.


    "Usually you use sharp swords, gigantic hammers, or high temperatures to get all the content out. But I want to try something; I want to test your strength," responded Narek with a tone of mystery.


    "My strength? Didn''t you see it in the arena? I defeated that rival with just two moves," claimed Thamuz.


    "I know, but in shamonak, there''s a very important factor: grip strength is the fundamental basis of shamonak," explained Narek, pointing the ghongon at Thamuz''s face.


    "Grip strength?" asked Thamuz, slowly pushing the ghongon away with his finger.


    "Yes, grip strength. It''s normal to grab from a specific point on the body, like the shoulder, which has a bone that makes it easy to grip. Legs could also be grabbed: you grab one, and your opponent loses balance significantly. But you, you can grab from the skin. When you lifted Bhogtan, you did it from the chest, a feat only the most veteran in shamonak can accomplish," said Narek.


    "I guess I have the strength for it, don''t you think?" protested Thamuz, looking at his ghongon.


    "With a body like yours, you''re right. But I want to be sure. I want you to break that ghongon just with the pressure of your grip. Show me if you''re capable of doing something like grabbing someone by the skin and throwing them as if they were nothing," challenged Narek.


    "Alright, but don''t get so intense," said Thamuz, slightly annoyed.


    Thamuz examined the egg one last time, placing it between his two hands and applying great pressure to it.


    "It''s very hard," he said.


    "Come on, I know you can crush that egg," encouraged Narek.


    The muscles in Thamuz''s arms began to tense, making his veins noticeable and the great pressure he was exerting until there was the sound of something breaking and a bit of liquid started to drip from the egg.


    "You did it," said Narek, surprised.


    "It took some effort," said Thamuz, holding the egg above his face.


    Some of the egg''s liquid dripped onto Thamuz''s face, and he licked it, making a slight sound of pleasure.


    "It''s really good," said Thamuz.


    He held the egg above his face, right at his mouth, and pressed it with such force that he shattered it, letting the liquid flow into his mouth.


    "Delicious," he said.


    "See, it''s delicious raw?" inquired Narek, looking cheerfully at Thamuz.


    "It tasted very sweet," said Thamuz, laughing a little.


    "Now, can you break my ghongon?" said Narek, giving Thamuz a small smile.


    Thamuz grabbed the ghongon and began to do the same, only now with more ease. The ghongon had cracked so perfectly that it looked like an elongated plate.


    "Here," said Thamuz, giving the ghongon to Narek.


    "Thanks," said Narek, receiving it in his hands.


    Narek began to eat, and Thamuz licked the remnants of his ghongon. Both looked at the stars and the sky until Narek finished his food.


    "They''re really too good," he said, rubbing his belly.


    Narek put his arms back and gave a long sigh at the sky before looking at Thamuz.


    "Do you know why I tested your grip strength?" he asked.


    "To see if I''m very strong?" replied Thamuz.


    "Something like that, but really, it''s for your next battle," explained Narek, with a serious tone.


    "What do you mean?" questioned Thamuz, somewhat worried.


    "I heard my father mention the name of your next opponent. His name is Khabixan. I''ve seen his fights and, although he''s not as strong compared to the others, his grip techniques are the best I''ve seen. They even feel like he''s not touching his opponent," explained Narek.


    "So, are you worried I might lose?" asked Thamuz, giving him a suspicious look.


    "A little. I have confidence in you after your first fight, but I just want to be sure you''re capable of beating him," said Narek, looking directly into Thamuz''s eyes.


    "I hope so," added Thamuz.


    The two boys stayed looking at the stars for a while until they heard their parents'' voices calling them for dinner. They obeyed and got up from their spots to go to the dining room.


    Once in the dining room, they observed a large table containing different types of food. Some were so big and long that they occupied much of the table, while others were smaller and more proportioned. Thamuz looked at the food with expectant eyes while Narek watched with a mix of curiosity and hunger.


    "Come and eat, you''re in for a great feast," said Armesto, inviting them.


    Thamuz sat next to his parents, who were on the right side of the table, while Armesto was at the head of the table and his family near him. Thamuz began to grab what he could with his hands and started eating voraciously.


    "You were very hungry, son," said Aolani, observing the ferocity with which Thamuz ate.


    "I couldn''t have breakfast because we were late," explained Thamuz, wiping his mouth.


    Tawnylon, his father, began to eat along with Thamuz, and they seemed alike, enjoying the moment together.


    The food was gone in no time, with everyone satisfied and full thanks to Yakrare''s skillful hands in preparing such delicious dishes. Thamuz thanked for the food and was about to get up to go to his room when he was stopped by Armesto.


    "Wait, Thamuz," he said, rising from his chair.


    "What''s up, Mr. Armesto?" asked Thamuz, somewhat worried.


    "Well, whenever someone wins a shamonak fight, they''re given some kind of reward, so I want to give it to you in person," said Armesto, extending his hand. "Extend your hand too, Thamuz."


    Thamuz extended his hand and opened his palm. Armesto dropped what he had in his hand, and Thamuz immediately observed what it was: several coins of a red color.


    "What is this?" asked Thamuz.


    "That''s the currency of this city, called pamtan. What I gave you is enough to buy a good house in a safe section of the city. But well, what do you plan to spend it on?" asked Armesto, with curiosity.


    Thamuz searched his mind for a way he could spend that valuable item until an idea came to him, an idea he could fulfill tomorrow.


    "You''ll see, Mr. Armesto," said Thamuz, with a big smile on his face.

 Chapter 8: dislocation part 1 ( second day of shamonak to death

    The second day had arrived, repeating the same cycle as the day before. Thamuz and his family had prepared for the second shamonak to death battle, with Armesto, his wife, and son also ready for the fight. The tension in the air was palpable, and the excitement was reflected in everyone''s eyes.


    They met outside the house, where Armesto was waiting for a carriage he had called some time ago. The carriage arrived, showcasing its simple yet well-structured design. It had enough space to accommodate a large number of people, being pulled by four creatures resembling a combination of birds and terrestrial animals, similar to horses but with feathers and sharp claws.


    Everyone entered the carriage in an orderly fashion. Thamuz and Tawnylon, due to their large size, almost didn''t fit and traveled somewhat uncomfortably, but they didn''t mind. The carriage started moving, beginning its journey toward the combat arena and traversing the city''s interior. Through the windows, the city''s bustle became evident.


    In the city center, Thamuz looked outside, observing the citizens passing by the same route. The market stalls were overflowing with merchandise related to the shamonak to death. There were toys made of unknown materials that mimicked the position and figure of the fighters, and different fabrics with colors and faces that showed the fanaticism toward this ancestral art.


    "Why is the shamonak so beloved?" Thamuz asked, intrigued by the people''s devotion.


    "It''s because it has been the greatest form of entertainment this great city has had for thousands of years," replied Tawnylon, affectionately stroking Thamuz''s head. "Besides, most of our species love watching violence."


    "It''s also very popular because it has been used to resolve conflicts and avoid wars all over the world," added Armesto, while observing the bustle outside.


    Thamuz immediately grasped the information and was even more impressed, turning his gaze back outside. Then he saw a food stall with a lot of food on it.


    "Can we stop here?" Thamuz asked, grabbing his father''s arm with enthusiasm.


    "Stop the carriage!" exclaimed Armesto, hearing Thamuz''s request.


    "Thank you," said Thamuz, immediately getting off the carriage.


    The food stall was operated by a young girl, approximately fifteen years old, with short hair and intense orange eyes. Her horns were not very prominent, and her height was relatively short, about one meter seventy centimeters. She was sitting on a small chair, with the sun''s rays covering her face.


    "It can''t be, if I can''t sell anything by the end of this month, I''ll be without a stall, with no way to feed my mother and siblings," she sighed, lamenting.


    A large shadow rose before her, blocking the sun. She looked to see where it came from and, with wide eyes, saw its source.


    It was Thamuz, standing before her, towering due to his great height.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "Ah!" she screamed, frightened by Thamuz''s imposing appearance.


    The passersby stopped for a moment, observing the scene forming before them. They stared for a while and then continued on their way.


    "Why are you scared?" Thamuz asked in a deep voice.


    "It''s just...," she stammered, "you look terrifying."


    "Oh, I don''t blame you; sometimes I get scared when I see myself in the mirror too," Thamuz said, laughing a little.


    The girl laughed as well, looking around and giving a big sigh before looking back at Thamuz.


    "So, what do you want? Food or something else?" she asked.


    "Well, I want some food. I saw the different textures and colors emanating from your stall and couldn''t help wanting to take some," Thamuz replied.


    "Well, feel free to take whatever you want. I haven''t sold much, so there''s a bit of everything to choose from," she said, raising her hand to the right, inviting him to check out everything there.


    Thamuz approached the food stall and examined everything. He grabbed a piece of dough with a grayish color and a strong milk smell.


    "What''s this called?" he asked.


    "It''s called bhotmon, it''s made from ghuyaman milk and heated over high fire for several hours. My mother makes them," she replied.


    "Can I try some?" Thamuz asked again.


    "Well, one bite won''t hurt," she said, placing her hand on her chin.


    Thamuz opened his mouth wide, eating the portion of food ferociously, leaving the girl perplexed by what she had just seen.


    "This is so delicious!" Thamuz said, licking his lips with his long tongue.


    "Are you going to...," she stammered, "pay for what you ate, right?"


    "Of course, do you think I''m some kind of thief?" he questioned.


    "No, not at all. It''s just that I told you to take a bite and you devoured it all," she said, sounding somewhat worried.


    "I had to try it completely," Thamuz said.


    Thamuz continued to examine the rest of the food, noticing it had the same pattern, with a grayish color and a strong milk smell.


    "Are they the same? Or do they have a different preparation method?" Thamuz asked.


    "It''s the same preparation, but they have different flavors and textures depending on which one you get," she replied.


    "I see, then I''ll take everything," he said.


    "Everything?" she asked, with surprise in her voice.


    "Yes, everything, I want it all," Thamuz responded with a smile on his face.


    "Do you have enough to pay for it?" she questioned.


    "Of course, don''t worry about that," he said.


    She stood up with great excitement in her eyes, going to the back of the food stall and pulling out a large yellow cloth sack, carefully placing each piece of bhotmon inside.


    When she finished placing each piece in the bag, she closed it with a large rope, tightening it for a good grip.


    "Here you go, I hope you enjoy it," she said, handing the sack to Thamuz with a big smile on her face.


    Thamuz received the sack, gripping it tightly, put it around his waist, and pulled a red coin from his pocket.


    "Here you go, thanks for the food," Thamuz said, handing her a red pamtan.


    The pamtan fell into the girl''s palm, and when she saw it, her eyes widened, and she started sweating heavily. She slowly raised her head and looked at Thamuz.


    "But, I don''t have change for this coin," she said, visibly worried.


    "Don''t worry about it, keep it, it doesn''t do me much good," Thamuz said.


    The girl clenched her fist around the coin, holding it tightly. She put it to her chest, and tears started to form in her eyes.


    "Thank you so much," she said. "What''s your name?"


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    "My name is Thamuz," he replied. "What''s yours?"


    "My name is Lilith," she answered.


    "Lilith?" Thamuz questioned, rubbing his chin. "That''s a beautiful name, I''ll try to remember it."


    "I''ll try to remember yours as well," said Lilith, wiping the tears from her face.


    Thamuz turned around, waving goodbye to Lilith with his hand raised. Lilith waved back and returned to her stall.


    "With this, I can buy a better stall in a busy area of the city. I can fulfill my dream and make sure my mother never has to work another day in her life," she said happily.

 Chapter 9: dislocation part 2 (second day of shamonak to death)

    Thamuz got back into the carriage, along with the sack full of food. He sat next to his father, and Armesto gave him a look of disbelief.


    ¡°Did you really give that girl a red pamtan? Just for that sack of food?¡± Armesto asked.


    ¡°Yes, I liked the taste,¡± Thamuz replied innocently.


    ¡°Well, I''m not against people spending their money on whatever they want, but that red pamtan was worth enough to live three lives in abundance,¡± questioned Armesto.


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± Thamuz asked, uninterested.


    ¡°You''re not paying attention to me,¡± Armesto said in a grave tone.


    ¡°In a way, I''m not. I don¡¯t see much importance in some pieces of metal that have colors on them. Besides, I can get back that precious piece for you all in the next shamonak fight,¡± Thamuz protested, his eyes beginning to shine.


    ¡°Fine, I like your lack of concern for this world''s economy,¡± Armesto said, reclining in his chair.


    The journey continued silently, with Thamuz pulling out some bhotmon and giving them to everyone in the carriage to try. They were immediately enchanted by the different flavors they tasted.


    The carriage arrived at the combat arena, where once again the large crowd could be seen entering the stadium, this time with some holding a flag with a doodle of Thamuz¡¯s face.


    ¡°Look, son, you''re becoming popular,¡± Aolani said, pointing at one of the people carrying the flags.


    Thamuz looked at the crowd, impressed by the sudden fanaticism they had for him. He firmly grabbed his sack and, with a leap, jumped out of the carriage. He covered his forehead with his hand against the blazing sun, watching as people entered the stadium while some turned to look at him, cheering and approaching him.


    A large group surrounded him, chanting his name. Some children in the front touched his legs or hands.


    ¡°What you did yesterday was amazing,¡± said one of the children.


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re my favorite fighter now,¡± added another.


    ¡°Thanks?¡± Thamuz said nervously.


    A child approached with a stone container holding a burning flame inside. He extended it towards Thamuz, who was puzzled by this.


    ¡°What are they doing?¡± Thamuz whispered in his father¡¯s ear.


    ¡°They want you to mark them with your thumb, like a signature,¡± Tawnylon explained.


    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t break the kids¡¯ dreams,¡± Thamuz said, trying to appear confident.


    He dipped his finger into the container, feeling a searing heat that slowly diminished to a warm, comforting sensation. Thamuz took out his finger and saw it was very red. He looked at it for a moment and asked, ¡°Alright, where do you want me to mark you?¡±


    ¡°Here, sir,¡± said a child, pointing to his forehead.


    ¡°Mark me here,¡± said another child, pointing to his forearm.


    Thamuz complied with the children¡¯s requests and began placing his thumb on the spots they indicated: hands, forearms, foreheads, legs. None of the children screamed from the searing sensation of their skin being burned, delighting in the mark left by their idol.


    ¡°I think that¡¯s all,¡± Thamuz said, blowing air on his thumb.


    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± all the children said, quickly moving away from Thamuz.


    ¡°Sir?¡± Thamuz said to himself, thoughtfully. ¡°I¡¯m only six years old.¡±


    A hand grabbed Thamuz¡¯s shoulder; it was Aolani, who had been watching the entire scene with Thamuz¡¯s admirers.


    ¡°You may only be six years old, but look at you, you¡¯re as big and strong as your father, even much more so than the fighters I¡¯ve seen enter,¡± Aolani said, trying to motivate Thamuz.


    ¡°Yes, I see that, though sometimes I¡¯d like to look like a child my age, to have that kind of fanaticism for someone, as if they were a star,¡± Thamuz said, holding his mother¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Of course, you can be like a child your age, only others are not able to accept it, but in time they will,¡± Aolani said, squeezing Thamuz¡¯s hand affectionately.


    ¡°Thank you for your words, mother,¡± Thamuz said, kissing his mother¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget your sack, you left it on the ground,¡± Aolani said, pointing at the sack.


    ¡°I almost forgot,¡± Thamuz said, grabbing the sack, ¡°tell father to be ready to see the best fight of his life.¡±


    Aolani nodded at Thamuz¡¯s words, going to Tawnylon and holding his hand tightly, interlacing their fingers.


    ¡°I hope Thamuz comes out unscathed from this battle,¡± she said.


    ¡°I hope so too, though he¡¯s too strong to get hurt,¡± Tawnylon replied, trying to calm Aolani.


    Thamuz walked towards the entrance of the battle quarters, guarded by two guards, who looked surprised at seeing him.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the fighter who defeated Bhogtan with just two moves?¡± one asked the other.


    ¡°Yes, don¡¯t you remember? We took him to the quarters yesterday,¡± the other guard replied.


    Thamuz stood in front of them, holding the sack in one hand, towering over them thanks to his great height.


    ¡°So, you have to fight again?¡± one of the guards asked.


    ¡°Supposedly, yes,¡± Thamuz replied.


    ¡°Well, follow us, like we did yesterday,¡± the other guard said.


    The guards turned around, opening the door that led to the quarters, heading inside with Thamuz behind them.


    The doors closed behind them, plunging them into darkness until one of the guards lit a candle lantern, raising it in front of him.


    ¡°We asked for oil for the lanterns months ago,¡± he said in frustration.


    They walked through the darkness briefly illuminated by the flickering light of the lantern, passing by the cells of the great beasts Zarakel kept for entertainment, until they reached the cells of the slaves and the homeless.


    ¡°Alright, we¡¯re here. Wait sitting in that chair, soon we¡¯ll bring the one who will paint your body,¡± said the guard, pointing to a chair for Thamuz.


    Thamuz went to the chair, sitting in it and placing the sack beside him, while the guards laughed at how Thamuz couldn¡¯t fit in such a small chair.


    ¡°What a big body,¡± they laughed in unison.


    Thamuz paid no attention to their incessant laughter until it stopped and the guards walked away, their laughter replaced by slow, resonant footsteps.


    <div>


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    He looked back, seeing the same female figure covered in cloth. This time, a slight tear in her garments revealed the harshness of her situation. She was limping, carrying a wooden container with her.


    "Hey, friend! Did you bring some food?" a voice whispered from the shadows.


    Thamuz turned his head, searching for the source of the sound. It was the same emaciated prisoner who had begged for food the first time he arrived in this gloomy place.


    "Yes, I brought some. I hope you like it," Thamuz replied, getting up from his improvised seat and taking his sack.


    He carefully began to take out several pamtan, handing them to each of the prisoners who extended their bony hands.


    "It tastes like meat," said one of them with a hoarse voice, devouring the content eagerly.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Mine seems to have vegetables," commented another, savoring each bite with gratitude.


    The prisoners devoured the food fervently, thanking Thamuz in whispers between bites.


    The woman covered in cloth approached Thamuz quietly. Noticing her, he turned his head to look at her. His eyes fell on the bruises that marked her face, visible despite the dungeon''s gloom.


    Worried, Thamuz immediately dropped the sack and crouched to get a better look at the woman.


    "What happened to you?" he asked firmly.


    "Nothing, I just fell and hit my face on the ground," she replied evasively, lowering her gaze.


    "Those bruises aren''t from a simple fall. Tell me the truth," Thamuz insisted, his voice tinged with seriousness.


    "Don''t worry about it, child. It''s nothing important," she replied, trying to move away.


    Thamuz looked into her eyes, searching for the truth in her evasive gaze. Although he couldn''t force her to speak, his intuition told him something darker was hidden behind her words.


    Without further delay, he took the sack and placed it at her feet.


    "Here¡¯s enough food for you and your child to eat well. Hide it carefully when you leave," Thamuz said determinedly.


    "Thank you, thank you very much," she responded with a choked voice, her eyes shining with unshed tears.


    Thamuz returned to his seat, silently watching as the woman approached with a wooden container in her hands. She dipped her fingers into the paints, mixing an intense orange hue.


    "Does that color have any special meaning?" Thamuz asked curiously, as he watched the woman begin to paint his body.


    "A lot," she replied firmly. "It represents the skill and hard work a shamonak fighter must endure to perfect their techniques. The circular shapes I paint symbolize the cycle and repetition, essential elements in our training," she explained, as her fingers traced precise lines on Thamuz''s skin.


    "I see, I think I¡¯ve heard something about my opponent¡¯s technique," Thamuz said, reclining in the chair confidently.


    "Really? And who is it?" the woman asked, her voice laden with intrigue.


    "According to a friend, his name is Khabixan, the fighter with the best techniques on the entire planet," Thamuz replied, watching as Gharta traced the last figure on his body with admirable precision.


    A murmur of anticipation swept through the dungeon. The mention of Khabixan stirred a torrent of memories and emotions in the prisoners, who had witnessed his mastery in combat.


    "I think I¡¯ve seen him fight," one of the prisoners interjected, raising his hand to devour the last piece of pamtan. "I¡¯m not sure if it was him, but the way he executed the holds was something out of the ordinary."


    "Really?" Thamuz exclaimed, his interest piqued.


    "Yes, he¡¯s smaller than you," the prisoner continued, mimicking Khabixan''s movements with enthusiastic gestures. "But I saw him throw a rival twice his size without any effort, almost as if he hadn¡¯t touched him."


    "Just like Narek said," Thamuz whispered to himself, recalling his friend¡¯s words.


    A deafening roar filled the room as the ramp opened suddenly, bathing the dungeon in blinding light. Most of the prisoners covered their eyes to protect themselves from the blazing sun, while Thamuz stood with a defiant look.


    "It¡¯s your time to fight, boy," the woman said, her voice resonating with authority as she stood up and directed her gaze towards the ramp.


    Thamuz rose from his seat, stretching his muscles with precise and controlled movements. A crack echoed from his shoulder as he rotated it in circles, warming up for the impending battle.


    "By the way, what¡¯s your name?" Thamuz asked, directing a curious look at the woman.


    "My name is Gharta," she replied, adjusting her hair with an elegant gesture.


    "Gharta? A name as fascinating as you," Thamuz said with an enigmatic smile.


    With firm and determined steps, Thamuz ascended the ramp, leaving the dungeon''s darkness behind and entering the combat arena. The roar of the crowd intensified, enveloping him in a wave of energy as he searched for his family among the sea of expectant faces.


    Thamuz spotted his family sitting in the same place, next to Zarakel. The latter wore a new gray tunic that covered almost his entire body, except for his head, which was painted with black spots. Sitting in a large chair, he examined a knife intently.


    Thamuz directed his gaze towards the ramp that was opening, watching as two figures, one large and one small, blurred in the distance.


    "Don¡¯t overdo it with him, dear. Remember it¡¯s only his second fight," said the smaller figure to the other in a worried tone.


    "Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll finish him in one hold. I won¡¯t extend his suffering," the larger figure replied confidently.


    From the ramp emerged the imposing figure of Khabixan. Though not as tall as Thamuz (Khabixan stood approximately two meters), his body was slender and toned, contrasting with the average shamonak fighter¡¯s musculature. His two frontal horns were of considerable size, with their tips pointing forward. His wavy hair framed his green eyes, and he walked with a nonchalant stride, moving his arms almost playfully.


    Thamuz also began to walk, this time with firm and determined steps, until he reached the center of the arena, where he stood face-to-face with Khabixan. The latter barely reached Thamuz¡¯s chest, but his gaze crossed Thamuz¡¯s with an intimidating intensity.


    The hooded figure reappeared, holding an even longer scroll than the previous one. His face, marked by scars, was glimpsed under the hood. In a grave voice, he proclaimed:


    "Welcome to the second day of the shamonak to death. Today, we will witness an epic battle. On the right side, we have Thamuz, who defeated one of the strongest shamonak fighters with just two moves. And on the left side, we have Khabixan, the fighter with the best techniques on this planet. May Yhamataw and Azhamat decide the course of this fight!"


    After the hooded figure¡¯s retreat, a sepulchral silence took over the coliseum. The drums resounded loudly, and the crowd erupted into chants and indistinguishable shouts for Thamuz.


    "Aren¡¯t you going to dance like your opponent did yesterday?" Thamuz asked with some intrigue.


    "I don''t think it''s necessary," Khabixan replied calmly, adjusting his hair with a nonchalant gesture.


    "Whatever you say," said Thamuz, getting into a fighting stance.


    Khabixan did not adopt a fighting stance, keeping his arms low and without a guard, staring at Thamuz with a defiant look.


    "Come on, the fight has started, get into guard," Thamuz demanded impatiently.


    Khabixan did not say a word; he just kept looking at him fixedly, with a slight mocking smile on his lips. Thamuz felt puzzled by this, taking some precautions.


    "Don''t say I didn''t warn you later," Thamuz said, lunging at Khabixan with a battle cry.


    A palm strike was the plan he had in mind, right at Khabixan''s exposed chest. Just centimeters away from executing his plan, he felt a great force coming from his arm, lifting him into the air and slamming him into the ground with a deafening crash, causing the entire stadium to shake and some stones to fall from the stands.


    Khabixan had grabbed Thamuz''s arm just as he was about to land his palm strike with almost superhuman speed. He caught him by the forearm and, with his own overwhelming strength, smashed him into the ground like a rag doll.


    Thamuz''s head was embedded in the ground, with his body falling seconds later, lying on his back and motionless. Khabixan squatted down to get a better look at Thamuz, with a serene and confident expression. Noticing no response, he stood up and turned his back, ready to leave the arena.


    "End this fight, he''s unconscious," he said loudly, walking toward the ramp he had come from.


    But he heard something behind him, the sound of stones moving and a guttural growl. He turned his head to see what was moving: it was Thamuz, his eyes open and a look of indescribable fury on his bloodied face.


    With a quick movement, Thamuz lifted a leg, stomping it on the ground before rising quickly, as if propelled by a supernatural force. His arms were in a low position next to his head, which was looking at the ground, blood dripping onto the sand.


    "Well, it seems you''re quite resilient," said Khabixan, turning his body to get a better view of Thamuz and adopting a defensive stance.


    Thamuz slowly raised his head, locking eyes with Khabixan. With a swift motion, he lunged at Khabixan again with a bloodcurdling roar, this time trying to execute a deadly grapple.


    Khabixan stepped back, completely evading Thamuz''s attempt to grab him with feline agility, taking advantage of the moment to deliver a palm strike to Thamuz''s face with such force that a chilling crack was heard. Thamuz staggered back, holding his face, which was bleeding profusely.


    "That was enough to break your face," said Khabixan in a serious tone of voice, making small jumps while keeping his left fist against his cheek, preparing for the next attack.


    The audience, which had been silent until then, began to murmur and cheer. Some spectators seemed impressed by Thamuz''s tenacity, while others debated Khabixan''s skill with admiration. In the stands, among the crowd, a hooded figure watched with special interest, taking notes in a small notebook with a feather quill, their eyes shining with a mystical glow.


    "Come on, son, don''t lunge like that, be patient!" shouted Aolani from the stands with an anguished voice.


    Thamuz heard his mother''s shouts, turning his head to see her. Blood ran into his eyes, blinding his vision. His face was disfigured by the blows, and his skin was covered in wounds.


    "Surrender, you have several mortal wounds on your body," said Khabixan in a disinterested tone of voice, this time lowering his hands, mimicking Thamuz''s fighting stance in a mocking gesture.


    "No, not yet," Thamuz replied hoarsely, coughing and spitting out a thick spurt of blood.


    "I warned you," Khabixan said, shaking his head.


    Khabixan lunged at Thamuz with lightning speed, grabbing his waist with a grip of steel. Thamuz tried to wrestle against him, but it was like trying to move an entire mountain. Khabixan''s overwhelming strength was crushing.


    Khabixan lifted Thamuz with immense power, as if he weighed nothing, and threw him with great force to his right side, making the combat arena tremble again and some cracks appear in the ground.


    Thamuz lay on the ground again, gasping for air, trying to get up, but his battered and bruised body wouldn''t allow it. A trickle of blood flowed from his slightly open mouth.


    "See? Just give up," said Khabixan disdainfully, placing a foot on Thamuz''s chest, pinning him to the ground.


    "No, never," Thamuz replied weakly, trembling with immense pain.


    "You are very stubborn," Khabixan said, with a look of anger and impatience on his face.


    Khabixan took a great leap, reaching up to four meters in height, positioning his foot to land a brutal, dry blow right on Thamuz''s head, breaking the ground beneath him and raising a cloud of dust.


    Everyone in the stadium watched in horror as Khabixan had apparently crushed Thamuz''s head with his foot. The fighter stood victorious over Thamuz''s lifeless body, while Aolani broke into heart-wrenching sobs, and Tawnylon looked on in bewilderment at the fatal outcome.


    "Well, you managed to withstand four of my techniques, I respect that a lot," Khabixan said in a low tone of voice, still with his foot on Thamuz''s head, "but it was decided from the beginning who the winner would be."


    Khabixan was about to head to his quarters to rest after an easy victory, but he felt something on his foot, a great force holding and immobilizing him.


    He looked down, incredulous to see Thamuz grabbing his leg with his large, bloody hand, with superhuman strength. In his shattered face shone a look of indomitable determination.


    "What the hell..." Khabixan said, unable to believe his eyes.


    Thamuz immediately stood up with a guttural roar, gripping his opponent''s leg tightly, lifting him into the air with a brusque movement and smashing him into the ground with brutal violence that made the entire stadium tremble.


    Khabixan lay on the ground, gasping in unbearable pain, looking wide-eyed at Thamuz standing before him, imposing despite his mortal wounds. A sepulchral silence reigned in the stands.


    "Do you surrender?" Thamuz asked in a voice that seemed to come from the depths of the underworld.

 Chapter 10: dislocation part 3 (second day of shamonak to death)

    "Do you surrender?" were the words that echoed in Khabixan''s head like a thunderous roar.


    He was almost unconscious, watching as a tall, burly figure loomed imposingly in front of him. He tried to get up, but his battered and bruised body wouldn''t let him.


    "Do you surrender?" the guttural voice echoed in his head again.


    Khabixan opened his eyes fully, surprised to see Thamuz looking down at him while he lay on the ground, covered in dust and blood. Then, he suddenly regained his composure, delivering a sharp blow with the sole of his foot to Thamuz''s knee in a desperate move.


    Thamuz knelt with a cry of pain from the tremendous blow he had just received, while Khabixan leaped to his feet, landing a devastating spinning kick to Thamuz''s chin with all his might.


    "Hey, that''s illegal!" shouted Tawnylon from the stands, outraged.


    "Actually," Armesto interjected calmly, "for several years now, Zarakel has allowed all kinds of moves in shamonak fights, from kicks to bites."


    "That bastard, he''s a dirty scoundrel," protested Tawnylon, turning his gaze to Zarakel with eyes burning with fury.


    Zarakel was sitting on his large chair, glancing at Tawnylon and sporting a sinister grin. He grabbed the knife he had in his hands and pointed it at the sun, lowering it slowly toward the violent fight in a threatening gesture.


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    "Now, Khabixan, play a bit with the boy. When he¡¯s more distracted, use that special technique you always have up your sleeve. That will surely kill him." said Zarakel, with an evil smirk


    The kick Khabixan had given Thamuz was strong enough to make his head snap to the right with a chilling crunch. But then, Thamuz began to slowly turn his head back, looking at Khabixan with a horrifying sound of broken bones, as if his neck were made of loose pieces.


    "What the hell are you?" said Khabixan, puzzled and terrified by Thamuz''s supernatural resilience.


    Thamuz lunged at Khabixan like an enraged beast, trying to embrace him with his massive arms, but Khabixan delivered another sharp kick to his head. However, Thamuz ignored the pain, advancing more and more, trying to grab Khabixan at all costs.


    "I have to keep him away with these kicks, if he grabs me again, it''s over for me," said Khabixan, his voice showing desperation.


    Meanwhile, Thamuz was still trying to grab some part of Khabixan''s body, completely ignoring the kicks his opponent was giving him, until he managed to grab his rival''s right side with an iron grip.


    "Just what I wanted you to do," said Khabixan, a sinister smile spreading across his face.


    Khabixan grabbed the hand with which Thamuz was holding him, spun around with absurd agility, and, pressing Thamuz''s arm tightly against his right side, lifted him with a roar of effort, slamming him back to the ground with a crash that echoed outside the stadium.


    "Stay down, damn it," growled Khabixan, his green eyes gleaming with a savage light.


    An eerie laugh echoed throughout the stadium, it was Thamuz, who had his hand covering his disfigured face, laughing in a spooky, deranged manner.


    "What happened to you, have I knocked you down so many times that you''re crazy now?" asked Khabixan, puzzled and disturbed by Thamuz''s chilling reaction.


    Thamuz abruptly stopped laughing, getting up again with difficulty, turning his back on Khabixan. His laughter had sounded like the lament of a tormented spirit, chilling the blood of the spectators.


    Khabixan seized the opportunity and lunged to deliver another lethal kick to Thamuz''s neck, but when his foot connected, he felt a sharp pain shooting through his entire leg.


    "Now, what are you going to do?" said Thamuz in a harsh voice, turning his head to glance at Khabixan with bloodshot eyes.


    Khabixan stepped back, clutching his foot, gasping from the unbearable pain.


    "His neck hardened on contact with my foot, if I had landed that kick on any other fighter I would have broken their neck," Khabixan pondered, never taking his eyes off Thamuz with growing fear.


    Thamuz stood up completely, facing Khabixan, lowering himself into a stance and lunging at his opponent again with an animalistic growl.


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    Khabixan responded with a kick to Thamuz''s chin, followed by several kicks to his ribs, but Thamuz seemed to feel nothing. It was like hitting a rock.


    "Damn, my feet are hurting," lamented Khabixan in his mind, noticing the supernatural hardness of Thamuz''s body.


    In his desperation, his mind clouded for a moment, until he was brought back to reality by a terrifying sensation, the sensation of extraordinary strength crushing him.


    It was Thamuz, who had managed to grab his right shoulder with his hand, and seeing this, Khabixan smiled arrogantly again.


    "Stupid fool, you never learn," he said, grabbing his hand again to attempt his move.


    But he couldn''t perform the same hold on Thamuz, now he felt incredibly heavy, as if the entire planet was crashing down on his shoulders with tremendous force.


    "How is this possible?" stammered Khabixan, turning his head to look at Thamuz with eyes wide with fear.


    Thamuz was staring him in the eyes, with a palm strike ready for a long time. He unleashed all his strength in that devastating blow, hitting Khabixan''s shoulder with a chilling snap.


    Khabixan was thrown to the side, spinning violently on the ground until he stopped abruptly, nearly falling out of the combat arena. His shoulder appeared to be dislocated at an unnatural angle.


    The entire stadium fell into a deathly silence, no one dared to utter a sound at the violent scene they were witnessing. Even Zarakel watched with his mouth open, his knife slipping from his almost trembling fingers.


    "That''s how it''s done, Thamuz!" shouted Narek from his seat with a resonant voice.


    Narek''s shout echoed throughout the immense stadium, rekindling the flame of all the spectators, who shouted and cheered Thamuz''s name in a deafening roar.


    Khabixan was still lying on the ground, gasping and battered, while Thamuz walked towards him with a firm step, stopping when he saw Khabixan struggling to get up.


    "This can''t be..." said Khabixan between gasps and the superhuman effort of standing up with one arm, the other hanging limp.


    Thamuz watched him from afar, spitting a viscous, almost coagulated clump of blood from his mouth, while Khabixan had fully risen, staggering.


    Khabixan checked his entire body, noticing his dislocated shoulder, his bruised and battered feet, his back on the verge of breaking, and his head spinning.


    "This can''t be," he repeated to himself with a lost look.


    Khabixan lifted his gaze, observing Thamuz''s body with wide eyes, his skin covered in what seemed to be jet-black scales, providing supernatural protection to his opponent.


    "I see, your body adapted to my kicks," said Khabixan, letting out a slight, stifled laugh.


    "That¡¯s what I see too. For a moment, I didn''t feel anything when you hit me," Thamuz confirmed in a rough voice, crossing his arms.


    "It''s not fair," Khabixan whispered, directing his gaze to the ground, defeated.


    "What are you talking about? What''s not fair?" Thamuz questioned, puzzled by Khabixan''s words.


    A tense silence reigned in the arena as the two warriors studied each other. Then, Khabixan lifted his face toward Thamuz, his eyes burning with fury.


    "It''s not fair that someone like you, who has never set foot in a shamonak arena, can beat me! Azhamat has blessed you with a body capable of withstanding a lot of physical punishment, superhuman strength, and adaptability. Meanwhile, what has he given me? Weakness from birth, poverty, misery, and a frail body. I had to break my bones in training to perfect my techniques, defeat many rivals to be considered one of the strongest, only for a nobody, a gifted individual, to come and defeat me like this!"


    Khabixan''s bitter complaint echoed throughout the immense stadium, moving some spectators, who clasped their hands and began to pray silently to Azhamat, while others looked at Khabixan mockingly, throwing trash and booing him.


    Thamuz was impressed by his passionate outburst. He lowered his arms along his body and meditated in deep silence until he slowly raised his head, locking eyes with Khabixan in a duel of stares.


    "I guess that''s how life is. There will always be someone much better than you. Even in this vast universe, there could be someone much stronger than me. But you''ve lived in a bubble that makes you believe you¡¯re the best at one thing, when you''re just a person who has only focused on being the best at that one thing, making it their main point in life. It will be much harder for you to process that there will be someone capable of surpassing you."


    Thamuz''s calm yet profound words struck Khabixan''s mind like a hammer, making him shed a few tears of helplessness. He wiped them away with his movable forearm and lowered his head, defeated.


    "I guess you''re right. I''ve trained my techniques so much that I''ve only focused my life on them, on combat. But now I see that you''ve surpassed me, so I ask you to end this fight. I''m done," he said in a rough voice, raising his head a bit to look Thamuz in the eyes.


    "I will grant your wish," Thamuz said solemnly, lunging at Khabixan at breakneck speed.


    Thamuz was just a few inches away, using a palm strike to finish Khabixan once and for all, but he noticed something on his face, a slight, defiant smile.


    With his last strength, Khabixan dodged Thamuz''s palm with an agile move, grabbing his right forearm, lifting him into the air, and slamming him to the ground with a beastly roar.


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    "Yes, he did it! He used his best technique!" exclaimed Zarakel, jumping out of his seat with excitement.


    A chilling crunch was heard, while Khabixan smiled triumphantly, still clinging with all his might to Thamuz''s arm in a final, desperate attempt.


    But a sound immediately frightened him; it was Thamuz, who, with his abyssal strength, grabbed Khabixan with the same arm being held. He also lifted his opponent into the air and, with a cry that showed primordial anguish and anger, slammed him to the ground with such overwhelming violence that the combat arena split in two with a deafening crash.


    Khabixan collapsed on the ground, his eyes turning a milky white, unconscious. Thamuz looked at him impassively, watching as his chest moved slowly, showing his struggle to stay alive after the devastating impact.


    But then he felt a lacerating pain in his arm, the same arm that Khabixan had made his final desperate hold on. He lifted it to observe, noticing it was dislocated at an unnatural angle.


    "Truly, it was the best technique," Thamuz said in a rough voice, returning his gaze to Khabixan with renewed respect.


    A deathly silence reigned in the stadium as the spectators contemplated the almost apocalyptic scene. The arena was shattered, with cracks and craters everywhere. Thamuz raised his dislocated arm, showing himself as the victor.

 Chapter 11: Bandamenas

    Slowly, the audience began to applaud and cheer for the two warriors, moved to tears by the display of valor and tenacity they had witnessed. The atmosphere in the stadium was electric, a mix of admiration and awe.


    Aolani descended from the stands, running to where Thamuz stood, her face reflecting deep concern for the multiple wounds covering her son''s body. Meanwhile, Tawnylon also made his way down, with a slower and more solemn step, letting a few tears of pride roll down his cheeks at his firstborn''s victory.


    Thamuz walked out of the shattered combat arena, holding his dislocated arm with his still functional limb. He limped slightly and spat dark blood along the way, leaving a crimson trail on the ground.


    Aolani stopped right in front of him, scrutinizing him with hawk-like eyes, trying to analyze every wound, every bruise, every drop of blood on her son''s battered body.


    "By Azhamat, Thamuz, look at how that bastard left you. Come, let me heal you," Aolani said with a trembling voice, trying to gently grasp Thamuz''s dislocated arm.


    Thamuz pulled away, avoiding contact, not letting his mother touch his wounds. He looked at her with eyes shining with determination and bent down a bit to be at her level, ignoring the pain the movement caused.


    "It''s nothing, mother. Just small bruises," Thamuz said, trying to calm her with a hoarse voice.


    "How can it be nothing? Just look at yourself, you look like a walking corpse," Aolani protested, raising her voice as she tried to get a better look at her son''s wounds.


    Tawnylon approached from behind her and, seeing Thamuz, raised his strong arms and caught him in a powerful paternal embrace.


    "That''s my boy! You''ve won your second combat in shamonak. Not even I would have done it that way," Tawnylon exclaimed with pride, squeezing Thamuz tightly against his chest.


    Thamuz groaned in pain, gritting his teeth and looking at his father with narrowed eyes.


    "Father, you''re hurting me," he whispered with difficulty.


    "Oh, sorry," Tawnylon replied, immediately loosening the embrace.


    Tawnylon released him, a bit embarrassed for hurting his son unintentionally. Aolani, meanwhile, gave Thamuz an analytical and worried look.


    "See? You are hurt. Let''s go to the carriage before night falls," she suggested, extending her hand toward him with a maternal gesture.


    Suddenly, a chilling scream echoed throughout the stadium, causing Thamuz and his family to turn around startled. The screams were so horrible that they froze the blood, as if someone were being subjected to the cruelest of tortures.


    "Where are they coming from?" Tawnylon asked, his voice tinged with concern as he scanned the surroundings.


    Thamuz surveyed every corner of the stadium until his eyes locked on the luxurious quarters of Zarakel. A shiver ran down his spine.


    "They''re coming from there," he pointed with a trembling voice, his hand rising slowly as an uncontrollable tremor took over.


    The screams turned into heartbreaking howls, and suddenly Thamuz recognized the voice of the one suffering so horribly: it was Shandam.


    "Shandam! I have to go rescue him," Thamuz exclaimed, starting to walk with determination despite gasping from the effort and pain.


    Tawnylon quickly extended his arm, placing his hand in front of Thamuz as an insurmountable barrier.


    "You can''t go, son. There are still two more combats before you can face Gigantino. Besides, look at the state you''re in," Tawnylon explained with a firm but worried voice.


    "But father, listen to how he''s suffering. I have to get him out of there!" Thamuz protested, trying to bypass Tawnylon''s hand with desperation.


    "I said no!" Tawnylon roared, his voice resonating like thunder. "You''ll only get yourself killed quickly, and I don''t want that to happen!"


    Thamuz froze at his father''s shout. He had never raised his voice like that before. Overwhelmed, he could only lower his head in submission and walk alongside his mother towards the exit, his heart heavy with helplessness.


    Tawnylon followed them, but before leaving the place, he cast one last look at Zarakel''s quarters. What he saw there froze the blood in his veins.


    It was Zarakel himself, completely covered in fresh blood dripping from his clothes and face. A long, demented smile was drawn on his lips as he held aloft, like a macabre trophy, the severed head of Shandam.


    "Let''s go, don''t look back," Tawnylon said in a faint voice, protectively covering his family with his arms and quickening their pace.


    They reached the stadium exit and opened the heavy door, being greeted by an unsettling solitude in the streets. The silence was so dense it was almost palpable.


    "Why is everything so deserted?" Aolani murmured, hugging herself.


    "They probably hurried to their homes for some reason," Tawnylon responded, though he didn''t seem convinced by his own words.


    Suddenly, a familiar voice called out to them from afar. It was Armesto, frantically waving his arms to make himself visible in the falling dusk over the city.


    "Look, Mr. Armesto is calling us," Thamuz said, noticing his urgent signals.


    The group cautiously walked towards where Armesto was. Narek approached Thamuz and observed with a mixture of awe and respect his dislocated arm, hanging limp.


    "Wow, it''s your first mortal injury. You''ll get used to it later," Narek said, giving Thamuz a small pat on the waist.


    "I got careless for a moment. I thought Khabixan had really surrendered," Thamuz explained, slightly moving his dislocated arm and suppressing a grimace of pain.


    "Let''s go home, Armesto, to treat the boy''s arm," Yakrare intervened, observing Thamuz''s injured arm with maternal concern.


    Armesto, without wasting time, called for a carriage. This time it wasn''t the luxurious vehicle from before, but a common one. It didn''t seem like much, rickety and creaky, but it would serve to transport them away from that lonely place. They all squeezed inside, making an effort to leave enough space for Thamuz to enter without hurting himself further.


    The carriage started with a rattle, the whispering wind being their only companion in the deserted streets. Tawnylon looked out the window, observing with unease that the city''s streets were completely empty, with no trace of life.


    "The streets seem very lonely, don''t you think, Armesto?" Tawnylon asked, glancing at his old friend.


    "It might be because of the ghurkha," Armesto replied, his voice laden with worry as he scanned the horizon.


    "Ghurkha? Isn''t that supposed to happen in three months?" Tawnylon inquired again, with a tone of curiosity mixed with apprehension.


    "Yes, but the astronomers predicted it would happen much earlier. Although I didn''t think it would be this close," Armesto said, his face darkening.


    Thamuz, who had been listening to fragments of the conversation, felt curiosity growing inside him. Leaning a bit, despite the pain, he whispered in Narek''s ear:


    "What are they talking about?"


    "Don''t you know what the ghurkha is?" Narek asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "No, that''s why I''m asking you," Thamuz replied, somewhat annoyed by the obviousness.


    "Well," Narek began, lowering his voice, "the ghurkha is when our sun is covered by a gigantic creature of colossal proportions. It feeds little by little on our sun, but after a week it leaves it as good as new. This has been happening since ancient times, since Yhamataw was born."


    Thamuz felt a chill run down his spine. The idea of a beast so immense that it could devour the sun itself was terrifying. He looked out the carriage window and, for a moment, it seemed as if the sky darkened unnaturally.


    "And what happens during that week?" he asked, almost fearing the answer.


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    Narek remained silent for a moment, as if hesitating to reveal the whole truth. Finally, with a sigh, he replied:


    "Darkness falls like a plague over this world," Narek continued, his voice barely a whisper. "Unknown beasts emerge from the abysses to attack anything they see. Even Zarakel takes refuge in his quarters throughout that week, tripling security in the entire city."


    "How terrifying," murmured Thamuz, feeling a knot in his stomach.


    "It truly is," Narek agreed, his gaze lost in the carriage window.


    The vehicle continued its journey through the empty streets, while the group engaged in conventional conversations, some revolving around Thamuz''s recent victory in the arena. But for the young warrior, his triumph now seemed a distant memory, overshadowed by the constant and threatening thought of the impending week of darkness.


    Finally, they arrived at Armesto''s house. They disembarked from the carriage one by one; Thamuz, this time, did not make his iconic jump due to his injuries. He descended carefully and walked slowly toward the entrance, each step a reminder of the punishment his body had endured.


    Armesto paid the driver with two green pamtans. The man tipped his hat in thanks and, with a click of his tongue and a whip crack, set his beasts of burden in motion.


    Everyone entered the house, immediately embraced by the comforting warmth and freshness of the home. It was as if they had left behind a nightmare world to enter a haven of peace.


    "Love, bring some bandamena water for Thamuz," Armesto asked his wife.


    "Right away, dear," Yakrare replied, hurrying to the kitchen.


    Thamuz sank heavily into a chair, with a view of the backyard. The majestic mountains in the distance were still bathed in sunlight, but that golden brightness was slowly fading, as if it were a prelude to the darkness to come.


    Aolani stood behind him, her motherly hands gently caressing her son''s head and planting a kiss on his forehead, trying to comfort him amidst his physical and emotional pain.


    Yakrare returned with a conventionally sized barrel. She carefully opened it and took a carved wooden cup, pouring some of the barrel''s contents into it. The liquid was amber-colored and emitted a sweet, herbal aroma.


    She approached Thamuz and offered him the cup, which the young man accepted with trembling hands.


    "Drink, this will help you heal," said Yakrare warmly, as if sharing an ancient secret.


    Thamuz observed the liquid for a moment, its reflections dancing with the dim light filtering through the window. Then, he brought the cup to his lips and took a long sip. The taste was strange, a mixture of sweetness and slight bitterness, but he immediately felt a comforting warmth spreading through his body.


    "I¡¯m going to realign your arm. I need you to hold on to someone, because it¡¯s going to hurt a lot," Yakrare said calmly but firmly, standing in front of Thamuz.


    "Tawnylon!" Aolani called urgently.


    Tawnylon appeared suddenly, observing the scene before him with attentive eyes.


    "What happened, love?" he asked calmly.


    "Hold Thamuz. Yakrare is going to realign his arm," Aolani explained quickly.


    "Right away."


    Tawnylon positioned himself behind his son and held him tightly, his muscular arms becoming an iron prison. Yakrare gently held Thamuz''s dislocated arm, while Aolani stood in front, holding her son''s head and stroking it in an attempt to calm him.


    "This will hurt a lot, Thamuz," Yakrare warned gravely, looking him straight in the eyes.


    "Do it, the quicker the better," Thamuz responded with determination, closing his eyes tightly.


    Yakrare nodded and firmly grasped Thamuz''s arm. She applied constant pressure, squeezing the muscles until finally, the bone popped back into place with a crunchy, eerie sound that made everyone present shiver.


    Thamuz writhed in place, a heart-wrenching scream escaping his throat due to the unbearable pain that pierced through him like a burning lance. Tawnylon held him with all his strength, trying to minimize his spasmodic movements.


    Yakrare finished realigning the arm and carefully released it, letting it return to its natural position. Thamuz slowly opened his eyes, raising his newly adjusted limb to observe it with squinted eyes.


    "How do you feel now?" Yakrare asked, a satisfied smile lighting up her face.


    "Well, now I can move my arm much better, but I still feel some pain," Thamuz admitted, his expression tightening into a slight grimace.


    "That''s because your ligaments need to heal. The bandamena water will make you recover faster," Yakrare explained kindly, extending her open hand to receive the wooden cup from Thamuz.


    Thamuz placed the cup in Yakrare''s hands and let out a deep sigh. He stared at the ceiling for a while and, after patting his knees a few times, stood up and looked at his parents with determination.


    "I¡¯m going out for a bit, I want to clear my mind," he announced calmly.


    "Alright, son, remember to come back early. You can see on the horizon that the ghurkha will begin in a few hours," Tawnylon warned, placing his large hands on Aolani''s shoulders.


    "I won¡¯t take long," Thamuz explained, turning his back and beginning to walk outside.


    Thamuz headed to the back of the house, once again welcomed by the view of the great mountains rising majestically on the horizon, dimmed by the almost nonexistent light heralding the imminent arrival of the ghurkha. He walked to a nearby hill, climbed to the top, and sat down, watching the darkened horizon with a meditative air.


    The little light still filtering into the environment manifested on Thamuz''s face, gradually illuminating his body. He lowered his head a bit, trying to receive less brightness, but also to better formulate his thoughts.


    "Did I really... really win by my own effort? Or just because I was born with an overly strong body?" he questioned himself in the privacy of his mind.


    His thoughts grew stronger until he felt a slight touch on his back, as if a hand were seeking his attention.


    He turned his head quickly, trying to see where the touch came from. To his surprise, it was Mr. Armesto, gently touching him.


    "Hello, champion," Armesto said, flashing a big, friendly smile.


    "Hello, Mr. Armesto, what brings you here?" Thamuz asked, curious.


    "I saw you so lonely on that hill and couldn¡¯t help but come to see why you¡¯re here," Armesto explained, slowly sitting down next to Thamuz with a slight groan.


    "It''s nothing really, don¡¯t worry about it," Thamuz replied, forcing a faint, unenthusiastic smile.


    "Come on, you can tell me. I''m almost like an uncle to you," Armesto insisted kindly, giving Thamuz a light pat on the shoulder.


    "It''s just that... after the battle, I can''t help but question if I really deserve the victory," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "Khabixan accused me of winning only because of my supernatural abilities, not because of my effort. And part of me fears he might be right."


    Armesto remained silent for a moment, his happy expression slowly fading. He turned his head slowly to look at the horizon alongside Thamuz, where the sun was beginning to set, tinting the sky in shades of orange and red.


    "Tell me, can you change your body right now?" Armesto asked, with a serious tone.


    "No, that would be impossible," Thamuz responded softly.


    "Then you shouldn''t lament it. The gods gave you the strongest body I''ve ever seen in my life, well, before your father. But you shouldn''t think you would be nothing without it. There are many people who would wish to have the same strength and muscles you have but were born with much more fragile and weak bodies, like Khabixan. But do you know what they have done?"


    "No, I don''t know," Thamuz replied, turning his head to look at Armesto. His eyes glowed with intensity, reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.


    "They have used what they were given and improved it every day, training to exhaustion, until their bodies could take no more, with the goal of becoming much stronger and not remaining in weakness. The burning flame they always had inside was kindled even more with each passing day."


    "Really?" Thamuz asked, his curiosity growing.


    "Yes, for example, look at me. What do you see in me?" Armesto said, standing up and putting his hands on his hips, as if striking a heroic pose. Around him, several small luminous insects began to dance in the growing darkness.


    "Well, I see a family man and a friend," Thamuz replied, his eyes glowing a bit with an intense red color.


    "Wow, what a compliment, but look closer, I want you to tell me how you see me," Armesto explained, a big smile spreading across his sun-weathered face.


    Thamuz looked more closely, observing Armesto better. He was someone of relatively short stature in yhamak terms, standing about one meter and ninety-eight centimeters tall. His hair was thick and brown, and his face was adorned with the passage of years, with several scars and wrinkles covering it, symbols of the battles fought and experiences lived. His body was somewhat plump, not to the point of obesity, but it was clear that in his youth he must have been muscular and athletic. His legs were somewhat thin, while his arms were robust like oak, revealing the strength he still possessed.


    "Can I say it, but you won''t be offended?" Thamuz asked, nervousness in his voice.


    "Go ahead, I''m all ears," Armesto responded, closing his eyes and raising his arms in mockery.


    "Your body seems to have paid the price of the years, you''re a bit short, a little taller than my mother. Your skin is too wrinkled and your legs look like dry branches," Thamuz said in a monotone voice.


    Armesto burst into laughter at Thamuz''s words.


    "Very observant, but yes, that''s my body, isn''t it? I can''t grow taller or be as muscular as before, but that''s because I was made this way. I will never be able to change it, but I can improve it, reach almost the top, fail, but climb again."


    "Were you muscular before?" Thamuz asked curiously.


    "Not as much as your father or the conventional shamonak fighters, but I did have some muscle. I was the shortest of all and one of the weakest in terms of physical strength, but I could improve and almost overcome those weaknesses, making a place among the best. But I was always overshadowed by the talent and pure genetics of your father and the other fighters, so I always took third or fourth place. But I could feel good about myself knowing that, although I was born with one of the weakest bodies, I could get close and touch the top a little."


    Thamuz remained silent, listening to Armesto''s motivating words. He turned his head to look at the horizon again, which was covered by the darkness slowly approaching them, caused by the ghurkha. Armesto gave him a small pat on the back.


    "Do you now understand what I''m saying? You shouldn''t feel bad because you think you only win because of your body. Instead, you should be grateful that you were born this way. Many would envy the capabilities you have, but just like the weak people, you can improve and become much stronger every day, not stagnating in just the abilities your body offers."


    "Thank you, thank you for your words, Mr. Armesto," Thamuz said, a tear sliding down his cheek. The glow of the rising moon was reflected in his reddish eyes.


    "It''s alright, that''s what I''m here for, to motivate you to keep going. Come, let''s go into the house, it''s getting too dark," Armesto said, helping Thamuz up.


    "Yes, I need to rest, tomorrow I have to fight again," Thamuz said, standing up and walking with Armesto.


    "Tomorrow? You don''t have a fight tomorrow," Armesto asked, somewhat puzzled by Thamuz''s comment.


    "But I have to fight for five days," Thamuz said, a confused look on his face.


    "Yes, but during the ghurkha, the first three days are complete darkness. You wouldn''t see a burning flame even if it were in front of your face, so all activities cease during those three days. After that, everything becomes clearer, with the last two days being the brightest," Armesto explained, putting his arms behind his back as they walked toward the house.


    "Three days? Excellent, I''ll spend those precious three days sleeping," Thamuz said, showing a big smile.


    The ghurkha creature

 Chapter 12: in the chambers of the eternal king

    In the shadows of a gloomy chamber, barely lit by the dying glow of a flickering flame, stood a silhouette clad in armor of unknown material. Its hands, encased in metallic gauntlets, skillfully twirled a dagger of unknown alloy. Its horns, once imposing, now lay cut and polished, while a scar crossed its right eye, condemning it to partial blindness.


    Its lips murmured a sinister melody, contrasting macabrely with the vision unfolding before it: a battered infant, immobilized by bindings extending from its upper to lower extremities.


    The child''s injuries defied all logic. Its shoulder, dislocated by superhuman force, threatened to detach completely. Its lower limbs, fractured at impossible angles, seemed the work of a demented sculptor. The toes, amputated with surgical precision, lay scattered like morbid trophies. Its once-innocent face was now furrowed with deep lacerations. But most disturbing was its thorax: opened like a grotesque flower, exposing a beating heart surrounded by ribs projecting outward.


    "Well, you still persist in your existence after such varied experiences," commented the figure, ceasing to toy with its weapon and resting its cheek on its fist, in an almost contemplative gesture.


    The infant coughed weakly, raising its head with superhuman effort. Its eyes, still bright despite the torment, locked onto those of its executioner. A twisted smile revealed its shattered teeth.


    "I... experienced... no sensation," it whispered between broken gasps.


    Suddenly, a door materialized in the back wall, opening with a pneumatic hiss and bathing the room in blinding light. From the opening emerged a tentacle black as the cosmic void, moving with impossible speed to pierce the child''s chest.


    Zarakel, the eternal king, glided in propelled by four tentacles sprouting from his back.


    "You test my patience, little specimen," Zarakel hissed, his tentacles undulating threateningly.


    The child, surprised for the first time, lowered its gaze to its new wound. A torrent of iridescent blood gushed from its mouth.


    "It possesses an almost supernatural resistance to pain, my lord," reported the armored figure, resuming the hypnotic twirl of its dagger. "I have applied all manner of stimuli, yet never managed to elicit a scream."


    "Curious," Zarakel replied, withdrawing his tentacle from the child''s chest with a wet sound. "I could have sworn that when Gigantino played with him, his laments resonated throughout the palace complex."


    Zarakel approached the infant, his baggy eyes scrutinizing every inch of the battered flesh. His fingers, ending in painful calluses, palpated the small one''s skull.


    "What are you investigating, my lord?" inquired the armored figure, its voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and reverential fear.


    "Signs of mutation," Zarakel responded, his fingers pressing with enough force to crack bone. "Perhaps he has ingested some compound from the anhur khabin system or some herb of unknown properties."


    "Or perhaps," ventured the figure, approaching cautiously, "from so much torment, his nervous system has recalibrated. After all, he possesses regenerative capabilities, does he not?"


    Zarakel stopped pressing the child''s head, turning his gaze towards the armored figure. A sinister smile drew on his face before refocusing his attention on the small captive.


    "It''s true, I now remember your peculiar regenerative ability, don''t I?" Zarakel inquired, gripping the child''s chin with his tentacular fingers.


    The infant fixed its defiant gaze on the multifaceted eyes of its captor and, in an act of rebellion, spat a jet of blood directly into Zarakel''s face. The self-proclaimed eternal king straightened immediately, but instead of cleaning himself, he began to lick the crimson fluid with delight.


    "Don''t let it go to waste, young one," he said between macabre laughs.


    After savoring to the last drop, Zarakel extended a black tentacle from his back, caressing with morbid delicacy the child''s bruised cheek.


    "You see, my skilled torturer has been inflicting unimaginable sufferings on you with a purpose as simple as obtaining information on how to defeat that beast they call Thamuz," Zarakel explained, pacing back and forth with calculated steps.


    "Why do you want to know? Are you afraid of him?" the child mocked between gasps and broken laughs.


    "Mere precaution. He has defeated two of my best warriors, although I still have three more, including my son. However, his last battle left him wounded. I''m just looking to... ensure myself," Zarakel explained, stopping in front of the child.


    "I won''t tell you. Stab me, beat me, burn me, drown me... you''ll get nothing from me," the infant responded with a defiant voice.


    Zarakel noticed something strange in the child''s eyes as he uttered those words. He approached abruptly, gripping the small one''s head with tremendous force to examine his eyes closely. He discovered blue spots in the cornea.


    "Aha! I''ve uncovered your dirty secret for not feeling pain!" Zarakel exclaimed with a tone loaded with sadism and triumph.


    The armored figure approached, intrigued by its lord''s discovery.


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    "What have you found, my lord?" it asked with a mixture of curiosity and fear.


    Zarakel released the child and turned to his subordinate, his eyes shining with an unhealthy light.


    "Our little guest has been consuming a very particular substance. Those blue spots in his eyes... are the unmistakable seal of ghunmak nectar, a drug made from a plant that blocks not only pain, but also fear," Zarakel explained, his voice charged with morbid fascination.


    "So, all this time...?" the armored figure began.


    "Exactly. Our conventional methods have been useless," Zarakel interrupted. "But this opens a new range of... creative possibilities."


    The child, despite his state, managed to sketch a defiant smile.


    "Do what you will, I''ll never betray Thamuz," he declared with a weak but firm voice.


    "Thamuz is no longer my priority," Zarakel declared, his voice charged with sinister curiosity. "What now intrigues me is how you managed to obtain the ghunmak nectar. If I remember correctly, only a handful of individuals possess the ability to transmute those flowers into nectar. Individuals like... Tawnylon," he pronounced the name with barely contained anger that made the air tremble.


    The child, feeling the weight of that fury, fixed his gaze on Zarakel with evident terror. Instinctively, he turned his face, as if the simple act of averting his gaze could protect him from what was to come.


    "It seems our little guest has suddenly lost the use of speech, my lord," commented the armored figure, a malevolent smile drawing on its face.


    Zarakel narrowed his eyes, a spark of understanding illuminating his predatory gaze.


    "His silence is more revealing than he believes. It suggests they have in their possession a vial of that coveted elixir," Zarakel gripped the child''s hair, bringing his face close. "Come on, reveal its location to me. In exchange, I promise to cease your torment... and that my heir will only ''play'' with you twice a week."


    "Never!" the child protested, his voice breaking but still defiant. "Do what you will, I''ll recover!"


    Zarakel let out a dry laugh, turning to his subordinate.


    "Youth today. We offer them the best opportunity of their ephemeral lives and they reject it for their absurd moral values. Can you believe it?"


    "They are of immeasurable stupidity, my lord," the armored figure nodded.


    Zarakel turned his attention back to the child, his eyes darkening until they became wells of absolute blackness.


    "So, do you grant me permission to extract that dirty information from your tiny brain by any means necessary?"


    "Do what you want. I will never betray my friends," the child responded, his voice trembling but firm.


    "As you wish," Zarakel hissed, a disturbing smile distorting his features.


    A new tentacle, thicker and more sinister than the previous ones, sprouted from Zarakel''s back. With impossible speed, it entered the child''s mouth, forcing its way to reach the brain. A dark energy pulsed around the appendage, voraciously absorbing the information contained in the little one''s mind.


    "I see everything," Zarakel murmured, his body contorting in macabre ecstasy. "Your birth, your childhood... even your family. What a pity you''ll never see them again."


    The armored figure watched the scene with a mixture of amazement and horror, as Zarakel arched in an unnatural position, his limbs trembling from the information overload.


    "I''ve got it!" Zarakel suddenly exclaimed, his eyes now void of all understanding. "The vial. It''s hidden under his bed. Send guards to his room immediately! I want them here now!"


    The armored figure nodded quickly and left the room to carry out Zarakel''s order. Meanwhile, the eternal king continued his macabre mental exploration of the child.


    "Fascinating," Zarakel murmured, his completely black eyes fixed on an invisible point. "I see connections, secrets... ah, and the pain you were trying to hide. What a delight."


    The child''s body convulsed violently, unable to resist the mental invasion. His eyes, once defiant, were now blank, rolling back in their sockets.


    Zarakel slowly withdrew his tentacle, leaving the child gasping and trembling. A cruel smile drew on his face as he stood up, shaking as if awakening from a trance.


    "Your mental defenses were impressive, little one. But in the end, everyone succumbs to me," said Zarakel, his voice loaded with unhealthy satisfaction.


    At that moment, the armored figure returned, accompanied by two guards carrying a small crystal vial filled with a bright blue liquid.


    "We found it, my lord, just as you said," reported the figure, presenting the vial to Zarakel.


    Zarakel took the vial with reverence, examining it in the dim light of the room.


    "Pure ghunmak nectar," he whispered with delight. "A substance as rare as it is dangerous. And to think that this little rebel managed to obtain it..."


    He turned to the child, who now hung limp from his bindings, barely conscious.


    "You''ve been very useful, more than you imagined," said Zarakel, approaching the child. "But I''m afraid your usefulness has come to an end."


    With a gesture of his hand, he ordered the armored figure:


    "Take him to the isolation cells. He no longer needs the nectar to block the pain. I want him to experience every second of agony as his body tries to recover."


    The figure nodded, untying the child and carrying him over his shoulder.


    "And what about Thamuz, my lord?" he asked as he headed for the door.


    Zarakel smiled, his eyes shining with a sinister light as he contemplated the vial in his hand.


    "Thamuz can wait," declared Zarakel, his eyes glowing with an unhealthy gleam as he contemplated the vial of nectar. "With this elixir, I can exponentially increase the chances of victory for my son."


    His voice was loaded with macabre anticipation, each word distilling barely contained sinister plans. The armored figure nodded reverently, understanding the magnitude of what his lord was implying.


    "Prepare our scientists," Zarakel ordered. "We have work to do."


    As the figure prepared to carry out the order, he throwed the kid and took him by his arms, dragging him out of the torture chamber. The battered body of the little one barely offered resistance, his mind still stunned by the brutal psychic invasion.


    As they crossed the threshold, the child''s muffled screams began to resound through the palace corridors. They were heart-wrenching sounds, a mixture of physical pain and mental anguish, bouncing off the stone and metal walls.


    Zarakel remained in the chamber, his tentacles undulating with anticipation as he studied the vial of nectar. His thoughts wandered among the possibilities this discovery opened: increasing the power of his heir, creating soldiers immune to pain, perhaps even altering his own physiology to reach new levels of dominion over life and death.


    The child''s screams faded in the distance, but their echo persisted in Zarakel''s mind, feeding his thirst for power and forbidden knowledge. The eternal king smiled, knowing that the possibilities of his victory had greatly increased.


    Zarakel, the eternal king

 Chapter 13: The awakening of a thought

    On a colossal planet, whose magnitude rivaled that of an expanding universe within the infinite cosmos, a battle of unimaginable proportions was being waged.


    A demon of fearsome height and body of blasphemous characteristics faced a bloody combat against an angel wrapped in pure light. Their powers, as antagonistic as they were devastating, clashed with a force capable of tearing the very fabric of reality.


    Their battle had left the planet almost in ruins, split in two and with countless fragments scattered through space. The two warriors looked at each other, each on the brink of exhaustion, their primordial essences at the limit of existence.


    The demon let out a scream that made all of creation rumble, a sound so deep and terrifying that even distant stars seemed to tremble. He jumped and rose into the air, extending his arm towards the firmament. From his claws burst a ray of negative energy that grew to reach the size of a dying sun, absorbing all light around it.


    The angel, in response, emitted a cry of primordial desperation that resonated across dimensions. He raised his hand, emanating a spectral energy that wove the very essence of life and creation.


    The two beings launched their attacks, which collided in the center of the cosmic battlefield. The collision generated an explosion of such magnitude that for an instant everything went white, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.


    Then, darkness reigned. Only the silence of loneliness was heard, a void so deep that it seemed to devour all existence. Suddenly, wrapped in a black light that defied logic, the demon emerged. His body, bruised and covered in lacerating wounds, was a testimony to the fierce combat. He extended his hand forward, and to his surprise, a white, pure, and warm light emanated.


    Several voices were heard from outside this reality, at first unintelligible, like whispers from a distant world. Little by little, a spectral cold sensation became present, and the voices became clear and sharp.


    "Wake up, wake up," those voices repeated urgently.


    Suddenly, an intrusion materialized in the eyes of the sleeping being. He opened them abruptly, finding himself face to face with who was calling him: a young yhamak, with small horns and light brown skin.


    "Thamuz, wake up," said the young man with concern in his voice.


    Thamuz rubbed his head, noticing it was soaked in sweat. He sat up slowly, observing his surroundings. He recognized Narek, who was by his side with an expression of relief.


    "What... what happened?" asked Thamuz, his voice still trembling from the intensity of his dream.


    "You''ve been sleeping for three days," Narek replied. "We didn''t want to wake you up at my father''s request, but today you were screaming and writhing in your bed. We feared something terrible was happening to you."


    "Three days?" repeated Thamuz, incredulous. He clicked his lips, feeling the dryness in his mouth, and cleared his throat. "Is there water?"


    "Yes, I brought a bucket here," said Narek, offering it to him.


    Thamuz grabbed the bucket, drinking it eagerly. He drank to the last drop and dropped the bucket, exhaling a sigh of relief.


    "Thank you," he said.


    "You''re welcome," Narek replied.


    Thamuz got up from where he was, noticing there was some darkness around him, as if it were a black mist of moderate thickness.


    "Your father told me that on the third day of ghurkha everything becomes clearer. Maybe that''s why I can see you clearly," said Thamuz, looking at Narek intently.


    "Yes, the past days I spent locked in my room. The darkness made me see practically nothing, we even had to shout to locate each other," expressed Narek, with a slight smile on his face.


    Thamuz put his hand on his chin, letting a slight symphony leave his mouth, as if it were a lullaby.


    "Where are my parents?" he asked.


    "Your mother was always here, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching over your sleep, while your father came to visit you occasionally, although he has spent those days training or fighting against my father," Narek replied, looking at the ceiling.


    "Typical of him," said Thamuz, walking towards the door of the room.


    "Where are you going?" asked Narek.


    "I''m going downstairs, I''ve rested enough," he replied.


    "Alright, we''re at lunchtime, so I think there''s still some food," Narek informed.


    "Food?" replied Thamuz, touching his belly. "That would be good."


    Thamuz left the room with slow steps, his body still trying to regain energy after a prolonged sleep. His muscles, numb from inactivity, protested with each movement. He went down the stairs, his fingers grazing the ancient wooden handrail, and found himself in the living room. The space was adorned with several fireplaces that emanated flames of an unsettling greenish color, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls.


    The air was impregnated with an aroma of spices and roasted meat. Thamuz headed towards the robust oak table in the center of the room, where he visualized large quantities of food arranged on silver trays. He grabbed a succulent piece of meat, juicy and still steaming, from a finely decorated plate. He devoured it while walking towards the backyard, savoring the smoky nuances and aromatic herbs that seasoned it.


    Upon reaching the yard, Thamuz stopped in his tracks, amazed by the transformation of the landscape. The environment was plunged into an unnatural darkness, with a grim tone that chilled the blood. A light mist rose before him, snaking between his feet like ghostly fingers. The sun had disappeared completely, eclipsed by the monstrous silhouette of a giant creature that seemed to be devouring the sky itself. Its eyes, like burning embers, fixed on Thamuz for an eternal instant.


    Suddenly, several sounds caught his attention. The wet sound of flesh being cut intermingled with the dull impact of something heavy hitting the ground. Intrigued and somewhat fearful, Thamuz hurried towards the origin of those disturbing noises.


    What he saw left him speechless. His mother, Aolani, and Yakrare were methodically dismembering the body of a colossal creature with knives of enormous proportions. Their movements were precise and coordinated, as if they were executing a macabre dance. A few meters away, in a combat arena that rivaled those of the main stadium, his father and Armesto fought almost naked, their bodies covered in sweat and dirt.


    Aolani, with sharpened maternal senses, immediately detected the presence of an observer. She turned her head to the left and saw Thamuz, who was still absentmindedly chewing the piece of meat. With a fluid gesture, she wiped her bloodied hands on a nearby rag and headed towards her son with a hurried step.


    Upon reaching him, Aolani wrapped Thamuz in a fierce embrace, her arms strong as steel but gentle as a feather. Thamuz returned the gesture, caressing his mother''s hair and depositing a kiss on her forehead.


    "Did you rest well, son?" she asked, her eyes scrutinizing Thamuz''s face for signs of fatigue.


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    "Yes, a lot. I feel like new," he replied, surprised by the truth in his words.


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    Yakrare observed the family scene with an enigmatic smile on his lips before returning to his task. Meanwhile, Tawnylon and Armesto continued their combat with fierce intensity.


    "You still maintain that perfect defense despite the years," commented Tawnylon, adopting a low stance with his hands in front, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.


    "This is my innate talent. Let''s see if yours can overcome it," responded Armesto, assuming a high position, his right arm raised with an open hand while the left rested near his waist, fist closed and tense.


    Tawnylon lunged at his opponent with lightning speed, trying to connect a palm strike. However, Armesto, with superhuman reflexes, caught Tawnylon''s wrist in mid-air. In a fluid movement, his left fist impacted his rival''s chest with devastating precision.


    Tawnylon staggered back, his breath short from the pain. An ironic smile drew on his face as he caught his breath.


    "Really? A heartshatter? That''s playing dirty, even for you," he complained between gasps and broken laughter, grudgingly admiring his opponent''s skill.


    "Come on, we all know you could defeat me with a single blow. Don''t judge me for using some cunning to face you," said Armesto, sketching a defiant smile that contrasted with the pain in his eyes.


    "Alright, if you want to play that way, then I will too," expressed Tawnylon, adopting a high position, bringing his arms towards his body. His muscles visibly tensed under the skin, like steel cords ready to release all their strength.


    Armesto assumed the same combat posture as before, his eyes attentive to every movement of his opponent. Trying to anticipate his contender''s attack.


    Tawnylon lunged at him, feinting the same palm strike as before. Armesto, confident, prepared to intercept it like the previous time. However, in a display of speed and deception, Tawnylon withdrew his palm at the last second, throwing himself back with an agile step. In the blink of an eye, he gathered his body and charged with all his strength, his shoulder turned into an unstoppable battering ram.


    The impact was devastating. Armesto was shot out like a human projectile, whistling through the air before crashing into a nearby wall. The collision shook the ground as if a minor earthquake was shaking the place. Pieces of debris and dust filled the air, momentarily obscuring vision.


    Tawnylon looked up, his heart pounding in his chest. Through the dust cloud, he saw his friend embedded in the wall, arms hanging limp at his sides.


    "Are you okay?" he asked, a note of concern slipping into his normally confident voice.


    The silence that followed was deafening. Tawnylon felt time stop, fear growing inside him. Then, to his relief, Armesto coughed and brought a hand to his head with a groan.


    "A ghokmeran? You really didn''t hold back," said Armesto, chuckling despite the evident pain on his face.


    "I got carried away in the moment," explained Tawnylon, walking towards his friend with a mixture of relief and remorse.


    Carefully, Tawnylon approached Armesto and freed him from the debris, lifting him in his arms as if he weighed no more than a child. He carried him to a nearby bench, next to which was a gigantic barrel with the lid open. The strong and sweet aroma emanating from the barrel filled the air around them.


    After seating Armesto on the bench, Tawnylon submerged a cup in the barrel, extracting an amber-colored liquid that shone with its own light.


    "Here, Armesto, to make you feel better," said Tawnylon, offering him the cup with an apologetic smile.


    "Well, bandamenas water has saved us countless times, hasn''t it, friend?" commented Armesto, bringing the cup to his lips. The sweet and penetrating aroma of the liquid filled his nostrils, promising relief and renewal.


    "Without a doubt. It''s an emblematic drink of our culture, after all," responded Tawnylon, sitting next to Armesto and directing his gaze towards the gloomy horizon. The sky, still dominated by the silhouette of the colossal creature, seemed closer and more threatening than ever.


    Meanwhile, Thamuz stealthily approached his father, his steps barely audible on the stone floor. With the agility of a predator, he raised his arms and lowered them with moderate force onto Tawnylon''s shoulders.


    The veteran warrior, despite his senses sharpened by years of combat, startled at the sudden touch. He jumped up and turned, his eyes widening as he recognized his son.


    "Hello, father," said Thamuz with a mischievous smile, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture.


    "Son!" exclaimed Tawnylon, his voice loaded with emotion. Without hesitating for an instant, he lunged towards Thamuz, enveloping him in a bear hug and lifting him off the ground as if he were a small child.


    Tawnylon''s grip was so powerful that Thamuz felt the air escaping from his lungs. Giving light taps on his father''s shoulder, he tried to warn him to loosen his enthusiastic display of affection a bit.


    "Oh, sorry," apologized Tawnylon, releasing his son from the hug with an embarrassed smile.


    Thamuz inhaled deeply, laughing between gasps at the situation. Having caught his breath, he approached Armesto and placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie.


    "I was really impressed by that technique you used. What''s it called?" asked Thamuz, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity and admiration.


    Armesto took another sip from his cup before responding, savoring the revitalizing liquid. "It''s called ''heartshatter''. With the right speed and strength, it''s capable of killing someone with a single precise blow," he explained, his eyes shining with a mixture of pride and warning. "It''s an ancestral technique, passed down from master to disciple for generations. It takes years of practice to perfect its execution."


    Thamuz nodded, impressed by the lethality and history behind the technique.


    "And how does it work exactly?" he inquired, leaning forward with interest.


    Armesto exchanged a look with Tawnylon before continuing.


    "The blow is directed at a precise point in the chest, right above the heart. The force of the impact, combined with a specific vibration generated by the user''s energy, can stop the heart instantly. In expert hands, it''s a deadly technique. In mine... well, let''s say your father was lucky that I only use it to stun him," he concluded with an ironic smile.


    "Fascinating," responded Thamuz, stroking his chin thoughtfully. His eyes shone with a mixture of wonder and ambition.


    "So, son, did you rest well?" asked Tawnylon, his tone brimming with paternal affection.


    "Too much. I really needed those three days," answered Thamuz, stretching as if to emphasize his renewed vitality.


    "I''m glad to hear it, because your mother and Yakrare are preparing a feast fit for kings," said Tawnylon, directing his gaze towards the imposing piece of meat that the women were skillfully preparing.


    Curiosity shone in Thamuz''s eyes. "What kind of animal is it?"


    "That, my son, is a bhatmin," responded Tawnylon with pride. "A colossal beast more than eight meters long and six meters wide. Armesto brought it down during a hunting expedition and has kept it preserved since then. He decided that your second victory deserved such a feast."


    Thamuz turned abruptly towards Armesto, genuinely moved.


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    "Really? That''s an incredibly considerate gesture on your part."


    Armesto shrugged modestly, though a satisfied smile danced on his lips.


    "It''s nothing. It''s a perfect occasion to gather around the table and chat, even if just for a bit," he explained, rising from his stool. His bones audibly cracked, a reminder of the intense previous fight.


    The hours flew by amidst preparations and lively conversations. When the time for the banquet arrived, everyone gathered around a long, robust table, brought especially to accommodate the cooked body of the bhatmin. The aroma of spices and roasted meat filled the air, making everyone''s mouth water.


    Thamuz took his place on the left side of the table, his gaze sweeping over the impressive expanse of the feast before him. Armesto presided over the table from the center of the upper side, his upright posture denoting his status. The rest of the diners were distributed in various positions around the table, creating an atmosphere of intimacy despite the size of the group.


    Tawnylon appeared alongside Aolani, holding a gigantic, sizzling silver platter on which they carried the cooked creature.


    "Make room on the table, because this is going to take all the attention," said Tawnylon, placing the platter on the table.


    A loud rumble was heard when the platter touched the table, noting its great weight. The smoke from the meat was dispersing throughout the place.


    "I can''t wait to tear off a piece and eat it," Thamuz said to himself.


    Yakrare was bringing along with Aolani different dishes to accompany the meat, such as various vegetables, food similar to bread, and different refreshing liquids.


    The table was ready, replete with delicious and hot food. Thamuz was about to grab a piece of the large meat that was in front of him, but he stopped upon seeing Armesto stand up, raising an ornate cup. Silence fell over the table as all eyes turned to him, expectant.


    "Friends, family," he began, his voice resonating with authority and affection. "We gather today not only to enjoy this magnificent feast, but to celebrate. We celebrate Thamuz''s victory, yes, but we also celebrate our union and reconciliation. It''s been a long time since we gathered like this to share."


    He paused, his gaze sweeping over the gathered faces before settling on Thamuz. "May this banquet nourish us not only in body, but also in spirit. Because the days to come will require all our strength."


    He raised his cup even higher. "To Thamuz! To us! And to the future he will forge with his strength!"


    A chorus rose in response, cups clashing in the air, with the celebration officially beginning.


    A bhatmin specimen

 Chapter 14: A new perspective

    The feast had come to an end. The plates lay empty or with remnants of exquisite delicacies. Thamuz and Tawnylon were satisfied, struggling to breathe due to the copious amount of food they had ingested. Meanwhile, the other diners, with their plates still half full, chatted animatedly among themselves, creating a cozy and festive atmosphere.


    Thamuz, with a gesture of pleasure, patted his bulging belly and stood up with the intention of returning to his dwelling to rest. However, Armesto called him with an imperious gesture, indicating that he should approach. Obediently, Thamuz walked until he stood in front of him, intrigued by the call.


    "What is it, Mr. Armesto?" Thamuz asked, with a mixture of curiosity and respect in his voice.


    "Were you thinking of leaving without your well-deserved reward?" Armesto questioned, arching an eyebrow with an air of complicity.


    "Reward?" Thamuz repeated, genuinely surprised.


    "For your second fight, of course. This time, it will be triple your previous reward," Armesto explained proudly. "The tickets sold like hotcakes when word spread that you would fight again. You offered a formidable spectacle."


    As he spoke, Armesto rummaged in his pocket. Thamuz watched with expectant eyes, his heart beating strongly. Finally, Armesto pulled out a bulging leather pouch, shaking it to make its substantial contents noticeable. He placed it in Thamuz''s palm and closed his fingers over it with a paternal gesture.


    "This time, I want you to spend it wisely," Armesto advised, with a tone that mixed pride and concern.


    "Of course I will," Thamuz assured, overwhelmed by the generosity.


    "I know you will, boy. But to make sure, I want Narek to accompany you," Armesto added, turning to his son.


    Narek, who was sitting next to his father, startled upon hearing his name, choking on the drink he was taking. Yakrare, his mother, patted him on the back while giving her husband a reproachful look.


    "Don''t scare him like that, honey," Yakrare said, with a tone of mild reproach.


    "It would be an excellent opportunity for Narek to show Thamuz the entire city," Armesto explained, crossing his arms with determination. "The most exclusive shops, the most picturesque neighborhoods, the best restaurants... A true immersion in our culture."


    Narek, now recovered from the surprise, looked at his father with a mixture of fear and rebellion.


    "But, father, I can''t go. Not after that encounter with the gang from the kengun neighborhood," he protested, rising from his seat.


    "Nonsense!" Armesto exclaimed firmly. "If they dare lay a finger on you, I''ll break their necks myself. Besides, you''re going with Thamuz. What better protection could you ask for?"


    Silence fell over the table like cold rain, Narek nodded to his father, and Thamuz stepped forward, feeling responsible for his new charge.


    "Don''t worry, Mr. Armesto," he said in a deep voice. "I''ll take care of Narek as if he were my own brother. I promise no harm will come to him while he''s under my protection."


    These words seemed to reassure everyone, especially Yakrare, who smiled with relief. Narek, for his part, looked at Thamuz with a mixture of gratitude and admiration.


    "Then it''s settled," Armesto concluded with satisfaction. "Tomorrow at dawn, you two will set out on an adventure through the city. May the gods accompany you and may this experience forge a lasting friendship between you."


    With these words, the feast officially came to an end, but the much-appreciated night arrived, for everyone''s rest.


    Thamuz was lying in his room, with Narek occupying an adjacent bed. Aolani was sitting in a chair next to her son''s bed, her face reflecting a mixture of concern and maternal love.


    "Are you feeling alright, son?" Aolani asked, gently placing her hand on Thamuz''s forehead.


    "Yes, why do you ask, mother?" Thamuz inquired, intrigued by the concern in Aolani''s voice.


    "It''s just that the way they left you in your previous fight scared me too much," Aolani explained, affectionately caressing Thamuz''s head. "It reminded me of when I used to see your father after his fights, all bruised and battered."


    "Can my father be hurt?" Thamuz asked with genuine curiosity, as if the idea of his father being vulnerable was something new to him.


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    Aolani smiled wistfully before responding:


    "Yes, your father is extremely strong, but not immortal. Some fighters have brought him close to defeat, but his will has always been much stronger. Although, I must admit, his survival instinct sometimes seems a bit... deficient."


    Thamuz couldn''t help but laugh at his mother''s comment, vividly remembering some moments he shared with his father before the current events. His mind traveled to that time his father took him to see wild mhonktan, and how they had to flee precipitously when they were spotted by some of them. He also recalled the survival lessons in the forest: how to find water, how to make the body spend the least resources possible to survive, skills that now seemed more valuable than ever.


    "Well, son," said Aolani, rising from her seat, "I''ll let you rest. You need to regain your strength for your trip tomorrow."


    She leaned down and placed an affectionate kiss on Thamuz''s forehead.


    "I love you too, mother," Thamuz responded, his voice loaded with affection.


    Aolani headed to the door, closing it slowly after giving her son one last kiss. The little light in the room vanished, letting darkness reign.


    Thamuz placed his hands behind his head, trying to visualize the ceiling in the darkness. His mind wandered, forming a mental image of what the city they would explore tomorrow would be like.


    "Hey, Narek, how big is the city?" Thamuz asked, breaking the silence.


    The answer was just a snore. Narek was already surrendered and sleeping peacefully. Thamuz stared at him for a moment, then grabbed his pillow and threw it with great force towards his companion.


    Narek woke up startled, falling from his bed and getting up immediately.


    "What happened?" he asked, with terror in his voice.


    "I asked you a question," Thamuz said calmly.


    "What are you talking about? I was dreaming about something great," Narek protested, sitting on his bed and rubbing his eyes.


    "You''ll dream about it later. I have a doubt that suddenly appeared: how big is the city we''re in?" Thamuz questioned, stretching his legs.


    "Very big," Narek answered, yawning.


    "How big do you think it is? Give me an estimate," Thamuz insisted.


    Narek sighed before responding:


    "Well, let''s say more than forty thousand houses of thirty meters wide and twenty meters high could fit here, and that would only cover thirty percent of the entire city. So yeah, I''d say too big."


    Thamuz listened to Narek''s answer and stretched out on his bed, emitting a slight sound as his lips clashed together.


    "So? Are you happy now?" Narek questioned, extending his arms wide, with a hint of irritation in his voice.


    "Which gang was your father talking about?" Thamuz suddenly asked, looking at Narek with eyes that glowed an intense red in the darkness.


    Narek noticed the sudden glow in Thamuz''s eyes and felt a shiver run down his spine. A drop of sweat slid down his forehead as he moistened his throat, preparing to speak.


    "Well..." Narek began, his voice trembling slightly. "It''s a complicated story. You see, there are certain areas of the city that..."


    Narek paused, as if weighing how much he should reveal. The glow in Thamuz''s eyes seemed to intensify, patiently waiting for the complete answer.


    Narek breathed deeply before continuing:


    "You see, there are certain areas of the city that are controlled by gangs. The most dangerous of all is the one called ''The Steel Fangs''. They have their base in the eastern neighborhood, near the old industrial district."


    Thamuz listened attentively, his reddish eyes fixed on Narek as he continued his story:


    "A few months ago, I made the mistake of venturing into their territory. I was... well, I was trying to impress a girl," Narek admitted, with a hint of shame in his voice. "Things got ugly quickly. They surrounded me, threatened me, and if it hadn''t been for the intervention of one of my father''s guards, I probably wouldn''t be here telling you this."


    "Was the girl pretty?" Thamuz asked, with a sarcastic tone.


    "She''s the most beautiful girl you could have seen in your entire life, her eyes are as warm as the hottest ember, her skin is as soft as the finest fabrics, and her horns, her horns are so small but pleasant to touch," Narek responded, with a tone of admiration in his voice.


    "I believe you, maybe we can see her when we go to the city," Thamuz added, closing his eyes.


    "Yes, but, that girl is currently the girlfriend of the gang leader," Narek recounted, with nervousness in his voice.


    "That must be why they chased you," Thamuz said, opening his eyes again.


    "Yes, since then, they''ve been looking for me," Narek continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They''ve sent threatening messages to my father, demanding ''compensation'' for having invaded their territory. My father has refused, of course, but that has only made things worse."


    Narek paused, looking nervously around as if fearing someone might be listening.


    "That''s why my father wants you to go with me tomorrow. Not only for you to get to know the city, but also as... protection."


    Thamuz nodded slowly, processing the information. His eyes glowed more intensely in the darkness.


    "I understand," he finally said. "Don''t worry, Narek. As I told your father, I''ll protect you."


    Narek seemed to relax a bit at these words, but tension was still noticeable in his shoulders.


    "Thank you, Thamuz. But be careful, okay? The Steel Fangs are not like the fighters you''ve faced. They''re ruthless and they don''t play fair."


    Thamuz smiled a smile that Narek could barely distinguish in the darkness.


    "They''re just a group of young people like us who play at being the baddest in the city," he said confidently. "Now, we''d better rest. A long day awaits us tomorrow."


    Narek nodded and lay down again, although it took him a good while to fall asleep. Thamuz, for his part, remained awake for a while longer, his mind full of thoughts about the city they would explore tomorrow and the dangers that might lurk in its streets.


    Andraxius, the biggest city of aldheran, where Zarekel reings as the eternal king.

 Chapter 15: Discovery

    The sun rose like a golden giant, bathing the settlement in a faint light, largely dimmed by the ghurkha. Narek woke up with a start, stretching until his bones cracked. He looked at the sun and, placing two fingers in front of him, slowly opened them until they reached the edges of the celestial body.


    "Seventeen hours have passed since last night, which means it''s morning," he muttered to himself.


    He turned his head and saw Thamuz still sleeping peacefully in his bed. A mischievous smile appeared on his face.


    "Maybe I can get back at him for what he did to me last night," he thought, remembering the pillow incident.


    He pulled out a large brick he kept under his bed and aimed it at Thamuz''s head.


    "I know a simple pillow won''t wake you up, so I''ll have to use something a little heavier," he whispered between light chuckles, trying not to wake his companion.


    Narek threw the brick, but just as the object was about to impact Thamuz''s head, he raised his arm with superhuman speed, hitting the brick in mid-air and pulverizing it.


    Thamuz''s action immediately frightened Narek, causing him to back away and cover himself with his sheets. Meanwhile, Thamuz slowly opened his eyes.


    "What happened?" asked Thamuz, fully awake.


    "A... a brick fell from the ceiling and almost hit your head," Narek stammered, trying to hide his nervousness.


    "Well, I was lucky it didn''t hit me," said Thamuz, slowly rising from his bed.


    Thamuz stood up, observing the sunlight penetrating through the window. He began to stretch, unconsciously displaying his musculature, while Narek looked at him, still frightened.


    "Come on, don''t be so smug," said Narek, trying to get up as well.


    Narek approached the window to observe the horizon. He saw his father sitting in a chair in the backyard, with a large table in front of him, reading a book while drinking a hot beverage from his cup.


    "Father doesn''t sleep much. He always gets up early and stays reading his books," Narek explained, glancing at Thamuz.


    Thamuz approached the window to see what Narek was talking about. He observed Armesto and gave a slight smile.


    "If I had that much money, I''d do the same," he commented.


    "Well," said Narek, changing the subject, "we better get ready. We have a long day ahead and a lot of city to explore."


    Thamuz nodded and headed towards the bedroom door. As he opened it, an scent of flowers and warm essences filled the air.


    He left the room with Narek, who was still rubbing his sleepy eyes. They headed towards the bathroom, which turned out to be a large sauna with a central hole filled with boiling water.


    They began to undress, becoming naked. Thamuz sat on one of the sauna steps while Narek went to fetch a bucket full of hot water.


    Narek returned with the bucket and sat next to Thamuz. With a ladle, he poured boiling water on his back.


    "Nothing better than a hot bath," Narek expressed with satisfaction in his voice.


    Thamuz imitated the action, pouring water on his back and emitting a bubbling sound of pleasure.


    "It really is the best," he added.


    They continued this ritual for a good while. Then, Narek got up and went to a cabinet. Upon opening it, he revealed several large jars with different powders and flower petals.


    He took a green-colored jar and returned to Thamuz. He opened the container and took out a pinch of the powder, rubbing it on his skin.


    "This helps you not smell bad all day," he explained, offering the jar to Thamuz.


    While Thamuz was applying the powder to his armpits, Narek noticed something peculiar.


    "What happened to the scales you had before?" he asked curiously.


    "What scales?" Thamuz questioned, puzzled.


    "In your fight with Khabixan, I saw some black scales appear on different parts of your body: ribs, shoulders, forearms," Narek explained, applying more powder to his legs.


    "Oh, you mean that? Well... I think they simply disappeared," Thamuz responded, his gaze fixed on the floor.


    Narek observed Thamuz with a mixture of curiosity and concern. There was a moment of silence before he dared to ask:


    "Is... is it normal for them to appear and disappear like that?"


    Thamuz raised his gaze, his eyes reflecting a mixture of confusion and something deeper, almost inscrutable.


    "To be honest, I don''t know," he admitted. "There are many things about myself that I still don''t understand."


    Narek nodded slowly, processing the information. He decided not to press the issue further, noticing Thamuz''s discomfort.


    "Well, whatever it is, they made you look quite intimidating in the arena," he commented, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe they''ll appear again when you need them."


    "Yes, they made me not feel Khabixan''s blows, and he got hurt in the process," Thamuz commented, reflective.


    The two young men finished bathing and got up from the steps. Narek wrapped himself in a towel and offered another to Thamuz, who accepted it, placing it around his waist.


    "Do you have any clothes?" Narek asked, walking towards the exit door.


    "No, I''ve always liked going shirtless," Thamuz replied, following him.


    "Well, in the city it''s well-regarded for men to go shirtless, but for women... well, you''ll know why," Narek explained, opening the door.


    They left together and headed to another room in the house. Upon opening the door, Thamuz was dazzled by the interior: it was a gigantic room full of different clothing items, from pants to elaborate dresses.


    "This is where we keep all our clothes. Each of us has a section. Come, I''ll show you," Narek said, walking towards the back of the room.


    Thamuz followed him, marveling at the variety of colors and styles. Narek was pointing out the different sections and corridors.


    "The open shirts and short pants are my father''s. The long white dresses are my mother''s. My section is right in front of us," Narek explained.


    He stopped in front of a set of shirts with a worn look. He took a black one and put it on.


    "How does it look? My father bought it for me two weeks ago," he asked, giving a thumbs up.


    Thamuz looked at him with a mocking smile. "It looks like an animal attacked your father before giving you the shirt."


    "Hey!" Narek exclaimed, feigning indignation. "At least I have clothes and you don''t."


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    "Clothes from distant lands, I see," Thamuz replied, laughing softly.


    Narek sighed, scratching his forehead. "Alright, I''m not going to get upset about that. Let me change completely and then we''ll go."


    While Narek was looking for the rest of his outfit, Thamuz scanned the room with his eyes, stopping at a section that seemed less used.


    "And those clothes over there?" he asked, pointing to a secluded corner.


    Narek looked towards where Thamuz was pointing, and his expression turned serious for a moment.


    "Those... those were my older brother''s clothes," he replied softly. "He died a few years ago in a shamonak combat."


    Thamuz felt the change in the atmosphere and nodded respectfully. "I''m sorry," he said simply.


    Narek forced a smile. "It''s okay. You know, I think some of his things might fit you well. Want to try something on?"


    Thamuz hesitated for a moment, but Narek''s encouraging look convinced him. He approached the section and chose dark leather pants and a black trench coat wich had an cape and hood attached to it.


    "I like these," he said, trying them on.


    Narek observed Thamuz with a mixture of nostalgia and approval. "They fit you perfectly. I''m sure my brother would have liked you to wear them."


    They both finished dressing in an uncomfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts about what would happen during the day.


    When they felt satisfied with their outfits, they left the room and headed towards the main hall. They walked to the backyard, where Armesto was still reading.


    Armesto was absorbed in his book, taking occasional sips from the cup he held in his other hand. Noticing two shadows approaching, he lowered the book slightly to look at Thamuz and Narek.


    "You woke up early, boys," Armesto commented, taking another sip from his cup.


    "Yes, you know the city gets very congested by the afternoon," Narek explained, crossing his arms.


    Armesto turned his head slightly, observing Thamuz. His eyes widened as he noticed the clothes he was wearing. He immediately lowered his book and looked at him with an expression of astonishment.


    "Are those Markat''s clothes?" he asked, his voice almost breaking.


    "I thought they would fit him well," Narek responded, with a tone of concern in his voice.


    A tear rolled down Armesto''s cheek, greatly worrying Thamuz. However, Armesto smiled at the same time.


    "They fit him perfectly," he said, wiping the tear from his cheek.


    There was a moment of emotionally charged silence. Thamuz, feeling a bit uncomfortable but moved, spoke:


    "Mr. Armesto, if it bothers you that I wear these clothes, I can change..."


    Armesto shook his head, his smile growing wider. "No, no, boy. It''s... it''s good to see them in use again. Markat would have been happy to see you like this."


    Narek put a hand on his father''s shoulder. "Dad, are you sure you''re okay with this?"


    Armesto nodded, regaining his composure. "Of course. Life goes on, and it''s time for those clothes to see the light of day again." He looked Thamuz directly in the eyes. "Take good care of them, boy. And more importantly, take care of my son on his adventure through the city."


    Thamuz nodded solemnly. "I will, sir. You have my word."


    Armesto smiled, satisfied. "Good, then." He turned to Narek. "And you, my son, keep your eyes open and show Thamuz everything our city has to offer."


    Narek nodded, a mixture of excitement and nervousness on his face. "I will, Dad."


    "Now go," said Armesto, gesturing with his hand. "The city awaits you, and the day is young. Enjoy, learn, and come back home safe and sound."


    "We will, father," said Narek.


    Thamuz suddenly touched his pocket and noticed the absence of something important. His eyes widened, and he turned around to head towards his room.


    "Wait, I forgot something very important," he informed as he walked away.


    He reached the hallway where the rooms were and noticed a open door. Curiosity got the better of him, and he approached stealthily to see what that room contained.


    It was his parents, still asleep and cuddled in an intimate and tender embrace. Thamuz observed them for a moment, letting out a sigh of tenderness. He decided to let them rest and continued on his way to his own room.


    Once there, he opened the door and headed towards the bed. He rummaged under the pillow and pulled out a leather bag.


    "I almost forgot the pamtan," he muttered to himself.


    Suddenly, a spectral breeze swept through the room, chilling Thamuz''s body and causing his anxiety to spike.


    "What''s happening?" he questioned, feeling a shiver run down his spine.


    "Enjoy it," whispered a spectral voice, barely audible but unmistakably present.


    Thamuz stood still, his heart beating hard. He looked around, searching for the source of that mysterious voice, but the room seemed empty and normal.


    "Who are you?" he asked quietly, though he wasn''t sure if he expected an answer.


    Thamuz was walking backwards, towards the exit door, when a large heavy figure blocked his path. He looked up and found eyes as red as the most burning crimson. The figure was twice his height, with horns identical to his and skin so black it seemed like the night itself. But there was a notable difference: the figure''s body was covered with skin wounds, bruises, and war scars, while Thamuz''s remained flawless.


    The figure grabbed Thamuz''s head, who remained motionless in its presence. It turned him until their gazes connected, and Thamuz observed the sinister grimace it presented.


    "Enjoy these moments so precious to you, because later on, you''re going to miss them," it said, ending the phrase with a macabre laugh.


    Thamuz tried to hit it with his palm, but the figure vanished as if it were a ghost, leaving him bewildered.


    Silence was all that remained. The cold breeze dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Thamuz with a feeling of unease and confusion.


    Slowly, he headed towards the exit door and ran out to the stairs, rushing down to the yard, where Narek and Armesto were still talking.


    Noticing his agitated state, Narek approached him while Armesto lowered his book and placed it on the table.


    "Is something wrong? You look very agitated," Narek asked, with a concerned tone.


    "Yes, you look like you''ve seen a ghost," Armesto added.


    "No, it''s nothing. Let''s go, Narek," Thamuz replied, walking slowly towards the settlement exits.


    Narek obeyed and followed him, while Armesto resumed his reading.


    The two young men moved away from the settlement until Narek spotted large gates rising on the horizon. He pointed them out for Thamuz to see.


    "Look, those are the gates to leave here," Narek explained, excited.


    "I''ve never seen them. When we went to the combat arena, we always took another path. Why are we going this way?" Thamuz questioned.


    "That path is only used when father hires a special carriage to take us, but none are operating at this hour. We have to go the conventional way, and behind that gate is where most of the normal carriages pass" Narek replied, quickening his pace a bit.


    "I see," said Thamuz, his mind still partially occupied by the strange encounter he had just experienced.


    "What''s wrong with you, Thamuz? You''ve seemed odd since you came down those stairs," Narek asked, with a tone of concern in his voice.


    Thamuz heard Narek''s question and glanced at him. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes before responding:


    "Narek," he finally said, deciding to share some of his concern, "have you ever felt as if... as if someone else was inside you? Someone who isn''t you, but somehow also is?"


    Narek looked at him strangely. "What do you mean exactly?"


    Thamuz shook his head, unsure of how to explain what he had experienced. "Forget it. I''m probably just nervous about the trip."


    Narek playfully hit him lightly on the shoulder and showed a slight smile.


    "Surely so many blows to the head are making you see quite a few things. That''s normal if you''re a shamonak fighter, you''ll get used to it later," he said, trying to calm Thamuz.


    "Maybe you''re right. Khabixan hit me several times on the head," Thamuz replied, scratching his head.


    The two reached the gates, which had a massive texture. They measured around seven meters and were made of a very hard material. They were so heavy that they had left several marks on the ground due to their constant handling.


    "Now how do we open these things?" Thamuz questioned, looking at the top of the gates.


    "Dad hired a worker to move a wheel and open the gates, but the worker suffered a heart attack and is now resting at home. So I guess it''s up to us to open it," Narek replied, walking towards what appeared to be a giant wheel.


    Thamuz followed him, also observing the wheel. It was approximately four meters in size and made of stone.


    "Can you move this thing?" Thamuz asked, standing in front of the wheel next to Narek.


    "Of course I can, just watch," Narek responded, rolling up his sleeves.


    Narek went to the wheel, grabbing it and trying to move it, but his strength was waning while Thamuz watched him with his arms crossed.


    "You''re going to hurt yourself if you keep going like that. Come on, let me do it," Thamuz expressed, walking towards the wheel.


    Narek, panting and with his face reddened from the effort, reluctantly stepped aside. "Alright, but I warn you it''s harder than it looks."


    Thamuz positioned himself in front of the wheel, flexing his muscles. He placed his hands firmly on the rough surface of the stone and began to push. At first, the wheel didn''t move a millimeter, but Thamuz didn''t give up. Gritting his teeth and concentrating all his strength, he pushed with more intensity.


    Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the wheel began to turn. The sound of stone against stone filled the air as Thamuz continued his effort. Narek watched in amazement as the enormous gates began to open.


    "Incredible!" Narek exclaimed. "Not even my father''s worker could move it so quickly."


    Thamuz didn''t respond, focused on his task. With a final push, the wheel turned completely and the gates opened wide, revealing the path to the city.


    Panting slightly, Thamuz stepped away from the wheel and turned to Narek. "Done. Shall we go?"


    Narek nodded, still impressed. "Yes, let''s go. And Thamuz... thank you. That was really impressive."


    The two young men crossed the gigantic gates and found themselves facing a spectacular view. The different buildings of the city rose imposingly before them, showing even larger buildings in the distance, while the wall surrounded the city like a colossal protector.


    Thamuz took several steps forward, marveling at what the city offered. He extended his arms and exclaimed aloud:


    ITS GIGANTIC!

 Chapter 16: The great city

    The voice of Thamuz resonated in the air, blending with the distant sounds of the awakening city. Narek, smiling at his friend''s amazement, positioned himself beside him.


    "And this is just the beginning," said Narek, pointing towards the horizon. "Wait until you see the city center. There are buildings so tall they say they touch the clouds."


    Thamuz lowered his arms, his eyes still scanning the urban landscape stretching before him. He could see winding streets that disappeared among the buildings, bustling squares in the distance, and what appeared to be markets full of color and life.


    "Where do we start?" asked Thamuz, feeling a mixture of excitement and slight anxiety at the immensity of the city.


    "Well, let''s start by trying to stop a carriage. The road to the city is too far," replied Narek, stepping forward.


    In the distance, a carriage was moving at an accelerated pace, with a large beast pulling it violently. As it approached where the two young men were, Narek raised his arm.


    "Stop, please!" he shouted at the driver.


    The carriage driver passed by swiftly, almost taking Narek''s arm with him. Thamuz, with quick reflexes, grabbed Narek by the back and pulled him backward to avoid a collision.


    "Damn it!" exclaimed Narek, grabbing a stone and throwing it at the driver.


    The stone hit the driver''s head, who veered off course and fell down a ravine, with precipitous sounds of his carriage falling along with his beast.


    Narek and Thamuz looked with surprised eyes at what had just happened. Narek turned around discreetly and started whistling, while Thamuz did the same, both trying to act as if nothing had happened.


    "Well, we''ll have to wait for another one," said Narek, with a mixture of nervousness and resignation in his voice.


    Another carriage was approaching, this time at a slower pace and pulled by a creature that seemed almost emaciated. The two waited several minutes until the carriage reached them.


    "Sir, could you take us to the inner parts of the great city?" asked Narek, walking alongside the carriage.


    But the driver seemed to be in his own world, humming a melody and paying no attention to Narek.


    "Sir!" exclaimed Narek, trying to get his attention.


    But the driver continued on his way undisturbed, and Narek gave up. He returned to where Thamuz was standing, who had his arms crossed in a sign of defeat.


    "Those damn fools are always like this. That''s why father always hires special carriages to take us," protested Narek, with a tone of annoyance in his voice. The cold morning wind ruffled his dark hair as he looked with frustration at the cobblestone street.


    "How about letting me try to stop one?" suggested Thamuz, stepping forward. His eyes shone with determination.


    "Alright, good luck," said Narek, skeptical but curious.


    Another carriage could be seen in the distance. This time it was moving at an agitated pace like the first one, but its beast, a quadruped creature with shiny scales, was walking normally.


    The driver spotted the two young men and flashed a slight malicious smile.


    "Look at those two, they look like idiots. I''m not going to pick them up," he said and grabbed a whip that was by his side. He struck his creature, which responded with a loud screech that resonated in the air.


    The carriage reached a high speed, trying to dodge the two young men, but Thamuz, noticing this, put his arm back, as if he were about to throw something. Just as the carriage was about to pass them, he hit the frame where the driver was, clinging to it and making it stop abruptly. The driver flew off while the creature stopped immediately, its legs leaving furrows in the ground.


    The driver fell to the ground, rolling a considerable distance. He stopped and lay on his back, watching as Thamuz rose above him, his imposing figure silhouetted against the evening sky.


    "Could you take us to the inner parts of the city?" asked Thamuz in a calm but firm voice.


    "Yes... yes, I can take you," stammered the driver, fear evident in his eyes.


    Thamuz helped the driver to get up, and he went to his carriage, sitting back in his seat while Narek and Thamuz settled inside. Thamuz occupied a large space on the seats with his muscular body.


    The carriage started moving, taking a direct path towards the city. As they advanced, Thamuz and Narek began a conversation.


    "I didn''t think you were going to stop it like that," expressed Narek, with admiration in his voice.


    "It was going to do the same thing the first carriage did," explained Thamuz, laughing slightly. "But I decided it was time to change the rules of the game."


    "Yes, it''s good that you have so much strength to do that," said Narek, leaning back in his seat. "Although I hope we don''t get into trouble for this."


    "My hand is still shaking a bit after that," admitted Thamuz, flexing his fingers. "By the way, how long is the journey to the city?"


    "About twenty minutes if the carriage goes very fast," replied Narek, looking out the window. "Although with the scare you gave the driver, we might get there in fifteen."


    Thamuz looked out the carriage window, observing how the sun began to completely cover the city. The crystal and metal towers reflected the golden light, creating a dazzling spectacle. He continued observing and showed a big smile.


    "It''s really beautiful," he said, his eyes shining with wonder.


    "Yes, it is. It was founded by King Visenarion III three hundred and ninety-seven years ago," explained Narek, also contemplating the view. "It was a prosperous city that degraded over time, with each new heir, until it fell into the hands of King Khumulak."


    "Who was that king?" asked Thamuz, with a tone of curiosity in his voice.


    "The king before Zarakel, your mother''s father... your grandfather," replied Narek, smiling as he spoke, his eyes reflecting a flash of historical knowledge.


    "Oh, I remember now. Father told me about him, he told me so many things," added Thamuz, turning back to his seat, his face showing a mixture of recognition and curiosity.


    "Did he tell you how he died?" asked Narek, also returning to his seat, leaning slightly forward with an air of complicity.


    "No, he only told me that Zarakel killed him, after my father won a tournament to marry my mother," replied Thamuz, crossing his arms, his brow furrowing slightly.


    Narek lowered his voice, as if fearing someone else might hear:


    "Well, after your father won, Khumulak fell into a deep depression seeing that his daughter had gone with him. Zarakel took advantage and planned his assassination along with Khumulak''s wife, with whom he had maintained a secret relationship for quite some time." He paused dramatically before continuing. "They waited for night to fall, and Zarakel entered Khumulak''s room, who was asleep. He got on top of him and strangled him with his great strength, while his wife just watched and covered his mouth so he wouldn''t scream."


    "Too macabre," said Thamuz, feeling a shiver run down his spine.


    Narek continued, his eyes shining with the intensity of one who reveals long-kept secrets:


    "When Khumulak''s death became known, there was no option for an heir. Your mother was still young and had escaped with your father to distant lands. So Zarakel stepped in, trying to claim the throne. Obviously, there were several people who were against him, but Zarakel took care of killing them and leaving no trace of them, finally remaining on the throne, ending the noble lineage of Visenarion."


    "Haven''t people protested about it? At least a coup d''¨¦tat?" asked Thamuz, rubbing his chin, his eyes narrowed in contemplation.


    "Who could be capable of stopping him?" responded Narek, his voice laden with resignation. "You''ve seen in person what he''s capable of doing. Only someone as strong as your father could defeat him right now."


    "I could do it," said Thamuz, with a tone of confidence in his voice, straightening up in his seat.


    Narek let out a light laugh, but his eyes showed concern:


    "Don''t let those two victories you have inflate your ego, my friend. Many people have died because of that." He paused and added seriously, "Zarakel isn''t just brute force. He''s cunning, ruthless, and has years of experience. Don''t underestimate him."


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    "I don''t think so," said Thamuz, exhaling an air of grandeur. "He''s so fat he barely fits in his seat and needs to use tentacles from his back to appear intimidating. I could defeat him with one blow to the chest."


    Narek sighed, scratching his forehead with exasperation.


    "That thick head of yours really doesn''t let your blood flow well," he said, looking at his friend with a mixture of concern and amusement. "Arrogance can be as dangerous as any weapon, Thamuz."


    Suddenly, the carriage stopped abruptly. The murmurs and bustle of a crowd began to filter in from outside. Narek stood up and looked out the window, his eyes widening in amazement.


    "We''ve arrived," he announced, a touch of excitement in his voice.


    Thamuz stood up as well, his imposing figure filling the small space of the carriage. He also looked out the window, a smile of anticipation spreading across his face. Without waiting any longer, he opened the carriage door and exited abruptly, his large size forcing him to duck to avoid hitting his head.


    Narek exited with more grace, sliding out of the carriage with fluid movements. As he stepped onto the cobblestone street, he saw that Thamuz was already beside the driver, who seemed to shrink in the presence of the young giant.


    "How much would it be for the trip?" asked Thamuz, pulling out his leather pouch.


    The driver, with evident fear in his voice and his hands trembling on the reins, quickly replied:


    "No, it would be nothing. Leave it as it is."


    "Come on, you took us all the way from there to here. I must pay you," insisted Thamuz, opening the leather pouch and rummaging inside, apparently oblivious to the man''s fear.


    "No, don''t give me anything!" exclaimed the driver, his voice breaking with panic. Without waiting for a response, he whipped the beast and quickly left the place, leaving a trail of dust behind him.


    Thamuz was perplexed by the driver''s sudden action. He shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment and put his leather pouch back in his pants pocket. He returned to where Narek was and raised a hand in a gesture of confusion.


    "He told me not to pay him," explained Thamuz, his voice mixing surprise and innocence.


    Narek couldn''t help but let out a small laugh, shaking his head.


    "He''s probably still scared by what happened," he replied, patting his friend''s shoulder. "Not every day does a giant like you stop a moving carriage with bare hands."


    As they spoke, the bustling life of the city surrounded them. Merchants hawked their wares, children ran between adults'' legs, and the aroma of spices and street food filled the air. Thamuz and Narek now found themselves in the beating heart of the metropolis.


    "Well," said Narek, rubbing his hands in anticipation, "where do we start our adventure in the city?"


    "Let''s go eat something, I''m hungry," replied Thamuz, rubbing his belly in anticipation.


    "It''s true, we didn''t have breakfast," added Narek, also feeling the emptiness in his stomach.


    They walked through the bustling streets, while some citizens were impressed by Thamuz''s peculiar appearance. Although his clothes covered much of his body, his unique features were still too evident to go unnoticed.


    "There are very good restaurants down this alley, and they sell food at good prices," said Narek, pointing towards a cheerful alley where several people were sitting eating at different food stalls. The scent of spices and roasted meat filled the air, making their stomachs growl even louder.


    They arrived at a food stall that had the head of a creature with several horns in the frame of the establishment, as if it were an exotic ornament. They entered the restaurant and sat down on chairs next to a solid wooden table.


    "These chairs are very large," said Thamuz with a tone of amazement, settling into one that seemed made to his measure.


    "Yes, shamonak fighters usually come here after a fight," replied Narek, looking at a menu card placed on the table. "So you know the establishment needs big chairs to accommodate them all."


    Narek finished reading the card and passed it to Thamuz, who was impressed by the diverse variety available.


    "What are you going to order?" asked Thamuz, his eyes scanning the exotic names of the dishes.


    "I''m going to order a roasted ghobun," replied Narek, crossing his arms and looking around, observing other diners enjoying their meals.


    "What''s that?" questioned Thamuz, with a tone of curiosity in his voice.


    "It''s a somewhat small creature, its shell is somewhat hard, but it''s cooked at more than four hundred degrees Celsius to soften it," explained Narek, his eyes shining with anticipation. "It''s served on a plate and with special instruments, the shell is removed to eat what''s inside. The meat is tender and juicy, with a slightly sweet flavor."


    "Sounds interesting," said Thamuz, closing the menu decisively. "I think I''ll order it as well. Although I might need two or three to be satisfied," he added with a smile, patting his stomach.


    While they waited for the waiter to arrive, Thamuz observed the interior of the restaurant with curiosity. The walls were decorated with weapons and armor of various styles, probably trophies from past battles. In a corner, a group of muscular men laughed loudly, their voices mixing with the clink of beer mugs.


    "This place has character," commented Thamuz. "I like it."


    Narek nodded, a smile of complicity on his face.


    "Wait until you try the food. If you like it, we could make it our regular spot when we come to the city again."


    The waiter, a burly man with scars on his arms, approached their table, ready to take their order.


    "We''d like four roasted ghobuns along with two cold mugs of bugort," ordered Narek, his voice clear and decisive. "Also a basket of cooked vegetables and a basket of bhotmon."


    The waiter received the order with a kind smile on his weathered face. He nodded approvingly at the choice and headed towards the kitchen with an agile step.


    As they waited, Thamuz and Narek continued their conversation, the bustle of the restaurant creating a pleasant background.


    "So, it seems you know this place very well," said Thamuz, fiddling with his fingers on the worn wooden table.


    Narek closed his eyes for a moment, a slight nostalgic smile appearing on his lips.


    "Yes, father used to come here with me when I was even younger," he explained, his voice tinged with memories. "We would spend hours here, eating and listening to the veterans'' stories."


    "Wow, so this restaurant has history in your family," commented Thamuz, with a tone of amazement and respect in his voice.


    "Well, yes," added Narek, opening his eyes and looking around thoughtfully. "I hope they still have the same seasoning as before. Old Groknak used to be the chef, and his ghobun were legendary."


    Thamuz leaned forward, interested.


    "And what happened to this Groknak?"


    Narek shrugged.


    "The last time I was here, a few years ago, he was still in the kitchen. But he was already old... I hope he was able to pass his secrets on to the next generation of cooks."


    At that moment, the scent of spices and roasted meat filled the air, making both young men inhale deeply.


    "Well, we''ll soon find out," said Thamuz, rubbing his hands in anticipation. "By the way, what exactly is bugort? You asked for it to be well chilled."


    "Ah, bugort," Narek''s eyes sparkled. "It''s a fermented drink made from a local fruit. It has a sweet taste, but with a sour touch, and when it''s well chilled, it''s perfect to accompany spicy or very seasoned meals. You''re going to love it."


    As they talked, the waiter returned with a full tray. The steam rising from the dishes promised a delicious meal.


    "Here you are, gentlemen," he said, placing the dishes on the table with skill. "Four roasted ghobun, cooked vegetables, bhotmon, and two well-chilled bugorts. Enjoy your meal."


    Thamuz looked at the dishes with hungry eyes, the scent making his stomach growl audibly.


    "Thank you," said Narek to the waiter, before turning to his friend with a smile. "Well, Thamuz, ready for your first experience with local cuisine?"


    "I''m more than ready," said Thamuz enthusiastically, grabbing a plate of ghobun and biting into it shell and all. The crunch resonated in the place.


    Narek looked at him with a mixture of amusement and nervousness. He took one of the instruments the waiter had left, a kind of small hammer, and began to gently tap the shell of the ghobun, skillfully opening it and revealing the whitish and juicy meat inside.


    With a fork, Narek began to eat his food with gentle and elegant movements, in marked contrast to the ferocity and hunger that Thamuz demonstrated as he devoured his plate. The giant seemed not to notice or care about the surprised looks from other diners.


    The two ate for a good while, the conversation reduced to murmurs of appreciation and occasional grunts of satisfaction. Soon, there was no full plate left on the table. Both young men leaned back in their chairs, giving a sigh of satisfaction as they rubbed their full stomachs.


    After a brief period of rest, Narek raised his hand, trying to get the waiter''s attention. The man quickly arrived and positioned himself next to them.


    "Was the food to your liking?" he asked with a knowing smile.


    "Yes, it was delicious," they both responded in unison.


    "Would you like the bill now?" he inquired again.


    "Yes, we''re full," said Thamuz, patting his stomach with satisfaction.


    The waiter took out a small paper from his pocket and handed it to Thamuz, who observed the bill for a moment. Then, he took out his leather pouch and extracted a red pamtan, a high-value coin.


    "Is this enough?" asked Thamuz, holding the coin.


    The waiter''s eyes widened at the sight of the red pamtan. He received it with slightly trembling hands, closed his fist around the coin, and sketched a slight smile.


    "It''s more than enough, sir. I''ll be right back with your change," he said, slightly bowing his head in a sign of respect.


    As the waiter walked away, Narek looked at Thamuz with an arched eyebrow.


    "You know, a red pamtan is enough to pay for about ten meals like this," he commented in a low voice. "I think you just made that man''s day."


    Thamuz shrugged with a carefree smile.


    "The food was worth it. Besides, isn''t it customary to leave a good tip when the service is excellent?"


    Narek couldn''t help but laugh at his friend''s generosity.


    "I suppose so. Well, what do you say we take a walk around the city after this? There are many interesting places I could show you."


    "Sounds good to me," replied Thamuz, stretching slightly in his seat.


    The waiter returned with a large leather bag and put it on the table. He bowed his head in gratitude, his eyes shining with appreciation, and returned to his duties.


    Thamuz grabbed the bag and opened it, observing that there were several green and yellow pamtans.


    "I guess this is the change," he said to himself, surprised by the amount.


    He grabbed the leather bag and stood up along with Narek. Just as they were about to leave the place, Thamuz felt a firm touch on his back, as if someone was trying to get his attention insistently.


    He turned his head to see who it was and observed a tall, muscular man who stood almost at his height. The stranger looked at Thamuz with eyes full of fury while his teeth audibly grinded.


    "Are you Thamuz?" asked the man, his voice deep and threatening.


    "Yes, who''s asking?" replied Thamuz, his posture instinctively becoming defensive.


    "The same one who fought against Khabixan?" insisted the man, his fists clenching at his sides.


    "Yes, why the question?" said Thamuz, somewhat confused but alert.


    Without warning, the man raised his arm and in a quick movement hit Thamuz with an open palm. The force of the impact was so brutal that Thamuz flew a great distance into the city streets, crashing against the wall of a house and leaving a large crack in the structure.


    "You''re a damn bastard!" shouted the man, with exorbitant anger in his voice. His body trembled with contained rage.


    Roasted ghobun                          and                                                                Bugort

 Chapter 17: The damned pain

    Narek, stunned by the sudden violence, looked alternately between the aggressor and the place where Thamuz had impacted. The other diners in the restaurant had fallen silent, some slowly moving away from the scene, others watching with a mixture of fear and curiosity.


    "What the hell...?" Narek began, but was interrupted by the sound of falling debris.


    From among the dust and remains of the wall emerged the imposing figure of Thamuz. His clothes were torn and covered in dust, but he seemed more surprised than hurt. His eyes, now shining with a clear feeling of confusion, fixed on his attacker.


    "I think I deserve an explanation," Thamuz said, his deep voice resonating in the now silent street. "Why are you attacking me?"


    The man stepped forward, his body tense as if ready to launch into attack again.


    "Khabixan is my sister''s husband," the man growled, his eyes shining with fury. "Now she''s crying while Khabixan is fighting for his life in the hospital, and no one makes my sister cry."


    Thamuz maintained his firm posture, his voice deep and controlled despite the tension in the air.


    "Khabixan knew what was going to happen when he faced me. Don''t come seeking revenge for something that was resolved long ago. I don''t want to have a fight without a valid reason."


    The man seemed not to have heard Thamuz''s words, his gaze clouded by rage as he approached menacingly. Thamuz observed that his words had been useless and gave a sigh of annoyance.


    "Alright, you asked for it," he said, preparing for the inevitable confrontation.


    The man lunged again, this time hitting Thamuz with his closed hand. Thamuz received the impact full in the face, but instead of flying off, he stood firm, tensing his muscles. The man''s punch ineffectively stuck to Thamuz''s face, who took the opportunity to grab his attacker''s wrist. With a quick movement, Thamuz raised his leg and hit the man''s knee with his foot.


    "Damn you!" exclaimed the man, the pain evident in his voice.


    Thamuz released his wrist and stepped back, while the man clung to his injured knee.


    "I warned you," said Thamuz, crossing his arms with a calmness that contrasted with the violence of the situation.


    But the man, blinded by his desire for revenge, ignored the throbbing pain of his broken knee and lunged at Thamuz again.


    This time, Thamuz acted quickly. He ducked, dodging the man''s blow with grace, and in a fluid movement, hit his attacker''s chin with the palm of his hand. The impact was so powerful that it lifted the man into the air.


    In a final move, Thamuz grabbed the man in mid-flight and slammed him hard against the ground. The impact resonated in the street, raising a small cloud of dust.


    The dust cloud had dissipated, revealing the man''s inert body on the ground. Thamuz approached and squatted down to examine him more closely. He expressed a small sigh of regret and stood up.


    "Now your sister has two people to cry for because of your stubbornness," he said in a deep voice, walking towards where Narek was.


    Narek observed with amazement the consequences of the fight, while some shamonak fighters who had been in the restaurant approached him.


    "Wow, isn''t that the one who defeated Bhogtan and Khabixan?" asked one of them, his eyes shining with admiration.


    "Uh... yes, yes it''s him," replied Narek, trying to control a slight tremor in his voice.


    "Are you his friend?" inquired another, his tone full of curiosity.


    "Yes," Narek replied dryly, still cautious.


    The shamonak fighters fell silent for a moment, while Narek stared at them, his mind full of worries. What if one of them was accompanying the man Thamuz had defeated? What if they were part of the same group and wanted to vent their fury on the one who seemed weaker?


    But his fears vanished when he saw one of them take out a small stone container.


    "Could you ask your friend to sign for us? We''ve been big fans of him since we saw him in his first fight," they said in unison, their voices filled with excitement.


    Narek immediately relaxed, feeling a great weight lift from his shoulders. He received the stone container and walked towards Thamuz, standing in front of him.


    "Well, you sure gave a great fight, even for free," said Narek, trying to ease the tension left by the confrontation.


    "Yes, although I wouldn''t have wanted it to end like this. But well, I wasn''t the one looking for a fight in the first place," replied Thamuz, crossing his arms with a gesture of resignation.


    "By the way, some shamonak fighters asked me for a favor. Could you give them your signature?" asked Narek, extending the stone container.


    "Of course, I''d be delighted," said Thamuz, his face lighting up with a smile.


    The two headed towards where the fighters were, who visibly excited to see Thamuz approach. Thamuz stood in front of them and looked at each one with appreciation.


    "Wow, I never thought that such big and strong people like you would have me as your favorite fighter. I''m very proud that it''s so," said Thamuz, with a tone of genuine happiness in his voice.


    "Since I saw how easily you defeated Bhogtan, I was amazed by you. There aren''t many fighters capable of doing what you did," explained one of the fighters, his voice full of reverence.


    "Well, I was a bit scared when I faced him, but you know how it turned out," said Thamuz, putting his hand on his chin in a thoughtful gesture. "But that''s a thing of the past. Where do you want me to put my signature?"


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    The fighters looked at each other and pointed to various parts of their bodies, like their forearms and knees. Thamuz smiled, understanding their desire, and dipped his finger in the stone container. He waited patiently until his finger began to burn, indicating it was ready to leave his mark.


    With quick and precise movements, Thamuz imprinted his signature in the different places they had shown him. The magical ink glowed for a moment before settling on the fighters'' skin, leaving a permanent mark that seemed to move slightly with the light.


    The fighters, exultant about the signatures that now adorned their bodies, received the stone container back. They bowed their heads in a respectful reverence before leaving, their faces radiant with excitement.


    Thamuz and Narek were left alone and began to walk down the street, moving away from the scene of the incident.


    "That bastard destroyed all your clothes," commented Narek, observing Thamuz''s torn garments with concern.


    "I''m sorry about that," replied Thamuz, with a slight tone of sadness in his voice. "You and your father told me to take care of them, but I couldn''t do it."


    "Hey, don''t worry," said Narek, putting a hand on his friend''s shoulder. "At least it was the clothes that got damaged instead of you. Besides, I know a very good tailor near here. We''ll have new clothes made for you there."


    "What''s a tailor?" asked Thamuz, his curiosity evident in his voice. The word was completely unfamiliar to him.


    Narek smiled, always willing to explain things to his friend.


    "Tailors are the ones who make and repair clothes. For example, the ones you''re wearing were made by the tailor we''re going to," he explained patiently.


    "I didn''t know about that," admitted Thamuz, his voice full of genuine curiosity. "In my land, clothes just... appeared."


    "You learn something new every day, friend," said Narek, shrugging with a smile. "And I''m sure the tailor will be happy to explain the whole process to you. She''s a true artist in her craft."


    As they walked through the city streets, Thamuz couldn''t help but notice the looks he was attracting. Some were of admiration, others of fear, and a few of pure curiosity. His recent display of strength had left a lasting impression on the witnesses, and the news was undoubtedly spreading quickly.


    "Narek," said Thamuz in a low voice, "do you think I did the right thing by fighting that man?"


    Narek considered the question and tilted his head a little, his eyes reflecting curiosity.


    "Why such a sudden change of emotions?" inquired Narek. "Before, you looked proud, as if you had won an official shamonak match, but now you regret what you did."


    Thamuz let out a sigh, his gaze fixed on the horizon as he searched for the right words.


    "It''s something I feel quite often," he explained, looking into Narek''s eyes. "I do something I''m enormously proud of, but then I feel regret, as if I had committed the vilest acts."


    Narek reflected for a moment, his hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully.


    "Maybe you''re still very soft," he suggested. "After all, how old are you?"


    "Six years old," replied Thamuz, scratching his head with some shyness. "I''m six years old."


    Narek''s eyes opened with surprise.


    "Six years old? I''m eight years older than you, but look at you," he exclaimed, making an encompassing gesture towards Thamuz. "Most kids your age are just at home, playing with their toys and doing some kind of silly thing. But you''re here, fighting in a big tournament and easily beating your rivals. Even though you have the body of someone strong, you can still feel those childhood feelings."


    Thamuz seemed to consider these words, his face showing amazement.


    "Do you really think so?" he questioned, raising his head with hope in his eyes.


    "Yes," affirmed Narek, rubbing his own hair in a reflective gesture. "When you came to the city, you were very excited about it, as if a child was seeing daylight for the first time. But well, I''ve given you my answer. It''s up to you if you want to stick with that explanation or keep thinking and mortifying this journey."


    "Thank you for your answer," expressed Thamuz, a small smile forming on his lips.


    The two walked for a good while, observing the different establishments around them: varied restaurants and sellers of shiny gadgets. However, as they advanced, the streets became more neglected.


    Thamuz turned his head slightly, his gaze catching an establishment where several scantily clad girls were, and a sign next to it with a mouth sticking out its tongue.


    "Look, Narek, those women must be so poor they can''t afford clothes," Thamuz said innocently, pointing with his finger.


    Narek looked in the indicated direction, his eyes widening. He quickly grabbed Thamuz''s chin to divert his gaze.


    "That''s... something you shouldn''t see for now," Narek said nervously, recalling his friend''s youth.


    They continued their way until they reached a medium-height building, covered with fine and bright fabrics, notably contrasting with the neglected street where it was located.


    "Here is our tailor," Narek announced, putting his hands on his waist with pride.


    "The place looks very colorful," Thamuz said, raising his hand to get a better look at the establishment.


    "Yes, she loves to show off. Come on, let''s go in," Narek said, heading towards the door.


    Narek knocked on the door with his knuckles repeatedly, getting no response. After several attempts, he scratched his head, puzzled.


    "Maybe she''s not home," he suggested.


    "Let me knock. You''re not doing it hard enough," Thamuz protested, positioning himself in front of the door.


    Thamuz raised his hand, tensing his muscles to knock with great force. Just as he was about to do so, the door opened, revealing a thin and small man.


    "I''m here, what do you nee...?" The man''s words were cut short by the strong impact of Thamuz''s knuckles on his face, sending him flying into the building.


    Thamuz''s eyes widened immensely when he realized what had happened, while Narek covered his mouth, stunned.


    The man finally stopped when he collided with some object, emitting a disturbing sound. Footsteps were heard approaching from inside, and Thamuz, panic-stricken, ran to hide beside the building. Narek remained motionless, still in shock.


    A female figure with short hair and pointed ears emerged from the open door. Two horns protruded from her forehead, but the most striking feature was her apparent old age, with wrinkled and stretched skin.


    "Narek?" said the female figure, her voice full of surprise.


    Narek, still dazed, tried to compose a smile.


    "Ah, hello... uh... we came to..." he stammered, searching for the right words while casting furtive glances toward where Thamuz was hiding.


    The woman narrowed her eyes, her sharp gaze scanning the scene.


    "We?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I only see you, dear. And by the way, have you seen my assistant? I swear he just opened the door."


    Narek swallowed hard, his mind racing to find a plausible explanation.


    "I... uh..." he began but was interrupted by a groan coming from inside the building.


    The woman quickly turned toward the sound, her expression changing from suspicion to concern.


    "What the hell is going on here, Narek?" she demanded, her voice taking on a threatening tone. "You''d better start explaining, and fast."


    Narek looked desperately toward where Thamuz was hiding, knowing he would need all the help he could get to get out of this situation.


    "I accidentally hit your assistant," Thamuz said, still hiding.


    "Who''s talking?" Mrs. Dhexna questioned, raising an eyebrow with curiosity.


    "He''s my friend, Thamuz. We came for you to make him a suit," Narek explained, trying to calm the situation.


    "Well, he better come out," Dhexna protested, with a tone of anger barely concealing her intrigue. "He has to face what he did to my assistant."


    Thamuz heard these words and began to slowly emerge from his hiding place. His footsteps echoed on the ground as he walked up to Dhexna, who was left speechless upon seeing the newcomer''s large size and imposing appearance.


    "I''m Thamuz, ma''am," he said in a deep voice, standing before her and offering his gigantic hand.


    Dhexna observed Thamuz''s slender form with incredulity. Her eyes traced the defined muscles under his black skin and his great height with great astonishment. Her mouth hung open, almost drooling, while her cheeks showed an intense blush that contrasted with her pale skin.


    "Are you okay, ma''am?" Thamuz asked, genuinely concerned by the sudden silence.


    "Mhmmmm..." a faint moan was the only response Dhexna gave.

 Chapter 18: A new look

    "I think she''s in a trance," said Narek, standing in front of Mrs. Dhexna, snapping his fingers.


    "She just saw me and froze like that," explained Thamuz, leaning slightly to better observe Dhexna''s face.


    Dhexna was letting out slight drops of saliva, her cheeks as red as ripe apples. Her gaze seemed lost yet fixed on Thamuz''s imposing figure, as if she were contemplating a living work of art.


    "I know what to do," declared Narek, raising his palm with determination.


    "What are you going to do?" asked Thamuz, with a tone of curiosity and concern.


    Narek, with a quick and precise movement, slapped Dhexna. The sound of his palm hitting her cheek resonated like a sudden thunder, impressing Thamuz, who watched with eyes wide open as plates at his friend''s action.


    Dhexna shuddered from the impact, raising her hand to caress her reddened cheek while her short, ebony-colored hair momentarily covered her eyes. Slowly, she raised her gaze and fixed it on the two young men in front of her.


    "I''m sorry for keeping you waiting so long. I hope it wasn''t for too long," Dhexna apologized, straightening up with elegance.


    "It was just a few minutes," replied Thamuz, making a reassuring gesture with his hand.


    "You''re Narek''s friend, aren''t you?" asked Dhexna, with a spark of curiosity in her amber eyes.


    "Yes, I am," confirmed Thamuz, feeling strangely nervous under the woman''s intense gaze.


    "What have you come for?" she inquired, her voice soft as silk.


    "A madman attacked Thamuz and ruined all his clothes, the same ones you had made for Markat," explained Narek, approaching the group.


    "Oh, right. How could I forget those garments. I made them before the... ''accident,''" commented Dhexna, with a melancholic tone that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand memories.


    "Yes, before that," replied Narek, his voice reflecting the same nostalgia.


    "Well, I suppose you want new clothes for your friend. If so..." said Dhexna, extending her hand towards Thamuz with a graceful gesture, "come with me."


    Thamuz looked at Dhexna''s extended hand with bewilderment, observing how she made subtle gestures, as if she wanted to attract him with an invisible spell.


    "What do you want me to do?" asked Thamuz, with a tone of innocence that contrasted with his imposing appearance.


    "Let''s walk hand in hand, darling," replied Dhexna, speaking in a soft and welcoming tone.


    "Oh, well..." muttered Thamuz, nervously, feeling an inexplicable tingling in his stomach.


    He approached Dhexna and took her hand gently. She, with the skill of an expert weaver, intertwined her fingers in perfect harmony. Meanwhile, Narek observed the scene with a feeling of strangeness.


    "Let''s go, I received some exquisite fabrics yesterday," announced Dhexna enthusiastically, firmly holding onto Thamuz''s hand. "I have silks from distant lands and linens as soft as the dawn breeze. I''m sure we''ll find something perfect to highlight your... singular presence, dear Thamuz."


    The three headed towards the interior of Dhexna''s building, who clung to Thamuz''s hand as if it were a newly discovered treasure, while Thamuz began to feel small drops of sweat forming on his forehead.


    Once inside the building, they were impressed by the exuberant amount of colorful fabrics hanging everywhere. The air vibrated with the constant hum of giant, metallic machines that emitted a slight vapor, working the fabrics with a precision that rivaled that of the best tailors.


    "Here we work in an automatic and efficient way, but since you''re a very special guest, I''m going to make your clothes myself," explained Dhexna, looking at Thamuz with tender eyes, who felt a shiver run down his spine.


    "That sounds good," said Thamuz, almost stammering, his voice barely audible over the noise of the machines.


    "So, how has business been, Mrs. Dhexna?" asked Narek, trying to fit into the conversation and ease the palpable tension.


    "Very good, actually. These machines work like twenty people. Besides, King Zarakel made a huge order," said Dhexna, with a tone of enthusiasm that lit up her face.


    "Really? What was it?" asked Narek, with genuine curiosity.


    "I can''t tell you, you know how he is with the things he orders, but I can only give you a clue: Gigantino," replied Dhexna, looking back to see Narek with a knowing wink.


    "I see. That damn retard is almost twice as tall as Thamuz. It''s even a miracle to see him with clothes on," said Narek, raising his hands in exasperation.


    "Don''t even mention it. Whenever I see him, he''s almost naked," added Dhexna, letting out a small laugh that resonated in the space.


    They arrived at a point where there were several rooms covered with gigantic black curtains. Thamuz, moved by curiosity, opened one of the curtains and glimpsed a mirror at the back of the space.


    "What''s done here?" asked Thamuz, observing the mysterious room with interest.


    "This is where I''m going to take your measurements. Let''s go in," replied Dhexna, releasing his hand and entering the room with a graceful movement.


    Thamuz looked back where Narek was, who was observing him with his arms crossed and an arched eyebrow, an amused expression dancing in his eyes.


    "What are you looking at?" asked Thamuz, somewhat annoyed by the way Narek scrutinized him.


    "It seems you''ve attracted Dhexna," said Narek, with a slight mocking laugh.


    "Does she like me? She looks a bit... mature," whispered Thamuz, looking at Narek with disgust.


    "She''s only three hundred and forty-five years old. She''s still in the flower of youth," replied Narek, arching his eyebrow again with a touch of sarcasm.


    Thamuz was left speechless upon hearing Dhexna''s age, his mind struggling to process the information. But before he could recover from the surprise, a melodious voice pulled him from his thoughts:


    "Thamuz, I''m waiting for you. Come, dear," it was Dhexna''s voice, soft but insistent, that seemed to caress the air.


    Thamuz swallowed hard, cast a last pleading look at Narek, who simply returned an amused smile, and entered the room. The whisper of the curtains closing behind him sounded like the seal of an inevitable fate.


    Dhexna was sitting in a chair, with her arms and legs crossed, looking at Thamuz with seductive eyes. The atmosphere was charged with tension and desire.


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    "Come closer, I don''t bite," she said, showing a captivating smile that made Thamuz''s heart beat faster.


    "It''s... okay," stammered Thamuz, slowly approaching Dhexna.


    Thamuz stopped in front of her and Dhexna began to subtly touch his hips, her fingers sliding with a mixture of tenderness and firmness.


    "You have very large and powerful hips," she murmured, losing herself in the caresses she was giving.


    "Th-thank you," expressed Thamuz, barely able to speak, feeling a growing warmth in his body.


    "Now, take off all your clothes," she ordered, clapping her hands which echoed in the room.


    Thamuz immediately blushed at Dhexna''s order. His horns began to tremble and his ears moved nervously.


    "What? Why?" he said in an embarrassed tone, trying to understand the request.


    "If you don''t take off those clothes, I won''t be able to take your measurements accurately. Besides, they''re all torn and damaged. Why would you want to keep them?" replied Dhexna, now in a more serious and professional tone.


    "You asked for it," said Thamuz, starting to undress, aware of Dhexna''s intense gaze on him.


    Thamuz took out his bags full of pamtan from his pockets and placed them on the floor, then proceeded to take off his shirt, tearing it even more as he removed it. Dhexna looked with admiration at Thamuz''s well-defined muscles, her breathing slightly accelerating.


    "Incredible," she thought to herself, surprised by Thamuz''s imposing figure.


    "Do I have to take off my pants too?" asked Thamuz, hands on his hips, a bit unsure.


    "Yes, everything," said Dhexna, looking at him with predatory eyes that left no room for doubt.


    Thamuz obeyed and began to remove his pants, along with his underwear, leaving his entire body naked before Dhexna''s evaluating gaze.


    "I''m ready," he said, exposing his entire being.


    "Alright, now comes the best part," said Dhexna, her eyes shining with anticipation as she rummaged in her pocket to take something out.


    She extracted a bright yellow, almost golden measuring tape that seemed to reflect light unusually. She rose from her chair with a graceful movement and began to measure Thamuz, who kept his hands on his hips, trying to appear relaxed.


    "My, biceps of one hundred and thirty centimeters, enormous forearms, your shoulders almost seem like mountains carved in marble. Where do you come from, magnificent creature?" asked Dhexna, genuinely intrigued by Thamuz''s sculptural body.


    "I come from a distant village," replied Thamuz, his gaze fixed on the mirror in front of him, as if trying to recognize himself.


    "Does this mysterious place have a name?" she insisted, the measuring tape sliding over Thamuz''s skin like a golden snake.


    "No, I don''t know what it''s called, I don''t even know where it is," replied Thamuz, his eyes meeting Dhexna''s in the reflection.


    "I see. So you''re quite an enigmatic someone. That... fascinates me," said Dhexna, her voice adopting again that seductive tone that made Thamuz shiver slightly.


    Dhexna finished measuring Thamuz and sat back in her chair, her eyes scanning every inch of Thamuz''s body as if memorizing a work of art. Finally, she raised her head and looked him directly in the eyes.


    "Well, I have all your measurements now. It''s your decision what type of clothes you want," explained Dhexna, playing with the measuring tape between her agile fingers.


    "Type of clothes?" asked Thamuz, frowning at the unfamiliar term.


    "Yes, do you want a shirt? A sweater? A jacket? It''s your choice to decide what you want me to make for you," explained Dhexna, resting her hand on her cheek, her eyes never leaving Thamuz''s.


    Thamuz reflected for a moment, raising his head to observe his body in the mirror. He studied himself in depth, as if seeing his reflection for the first time, before turning his gaze back to Dhexna.


    "I want a type of clothing that makes me look imposing, as if I were a total threat, an untameable force of nature," said Thamuz, his voice resonating with a firmness that surprised even himself.


    "I see, a tough and powerful type," said Dhexna, an enigmatic smile dancing on her lips. "I think I have in mind exactly what you''re looking for."


    She went to an ornate closet at the back of the room. Upon opening it, a faint glow escaped from inside. She took out a large towel made of a material that seemed to change color with every movement and returned to where Thamuz was, throwing it to him with a fluid motion.


    "What is this for?" asked Thamuz, catching the towel in the air, surprised by its softness.


    "It''s for you to cover yourself while I create your outfit. You wouldn''t want to be with Narek in your current state, would you?" she asked, her provocative tone making Thamuz blush slightly.


    "No, it would be... uncomfortable," said Thamuz, hurrying to cover his waist with the towel.


    "Good, you can go out now. It will take me some time to materialize your new identity in fabric," she said, walking towards the exit with an air of anticipation. "Prepare yourself for a transformation, Thamuz. When I''m finished, the world will tremble at your presence."


    Thamuz nodded and grabbed his bags full of pamtan, left the room, adjusting the towel around his waist. The fabric, made of an unknown material, seemed to subtly change color with each movement, reflecting shades ranging from deep navy blue to warm gold. Narek was waiting outside, arching an eyebrow when he saw him.


    "Is everything alright?" asked Narek, his eyes scanning his friend''s imposing figure.


    "Yes, she took my measurements. Now she''ll make the clothes," replied Thamuz, feeling somewhat uncomfortable under Narek''s scrutinizing gaze.


    Dhexna came out after them, the sound of her steps barely audible over the constant hum of the machines. "You can wait in the main room. This will take a few hours. Perfection requires time," she added with an enigmatic smile.


    As they walked through hallways filled with exotic fabrics and mysterious aromas, Narek noticed Thamuz''s pensive expression. His eyes, normally serene, seemed to contain an internal fire.


    "What are you thinking about? You seem lost in another world," asked Narek, genuinely intrigued.


    "About what I asked for. Clothes that make me look imposing, like a force of nature," explained Thamuz, his voice taking on a deeper tone.


    "Interesting choice," commented Narek, rubbing his chin. "Why that? It''s not like you need much help to look intimidating," he added with a crooked smile.


    Thamuz stopped abruptly, his gaze fixed on the enormous machines that worked tirelessly, weaving stories into every garment. "I don''t know for certain. I feel I must project power. As if it were an intrinsic part of my being, a truth I''ve forgotten but my body remembers."


    His words seemed to resonate in the air, charged with an inexplicable weight. Thamuz''s horns glowed faintly, as if responding to a silent call.


    "Wow, you seem like a completely different person when you talk about that," said Narek, with a thoughtful tone and a hint of concern. "It''s as if you''re awakening a dormant part of yourself."


    "Maybe, maybe I''m getting too thoughtful about what happens to me day by day," said Thamuz, trying to give a simple explanation, although his voice betrayed an underlying uncertainty.


    "Maybe, friend, maybe," replied Narek, putting his arms behind his back, his tone mixing skepticism and concern.


    The two found a large antique leather sofa and decided to sit down. As they reclined, the furniture creaked under their weight, as if welcoming them. They let out a great sigh in unison, the tension of the day beginning to dissipate.


    "That food really made me quite sleepy," muttered Thamuz, putting a hand on his face, his eyelids heavy.


    "Me too," added Narek, giving a big yawn that seemed to infect the nearby machines, which for a moment slowed their rhythm.


    Both sank into a pleasant sleep while waiting for Dhexna''s clothes. Time seemed to slip like silk between their fingers, until Thamuz felt something on his legs. He slightly opened his eyes, finding Dhexna sitting on his lap, staring at him with an intensity that startled him.


    "AH!" exclaimed Thamuz, his heart leaping in his chest.


    Narek woke up startled by Thamuz''s scream, observing the scene with a mixture of surprise and amusement. A laugh escaped his lips.


    "Well, it was true that she likes you," he said between laughs, his eyes shining with mischief.


    "Please, Narek, help me," whispered Thamuz, his gaze alternating between his friend and Dhexna, who continued to look at him with an almost hypnotic intensity.


    "I''ve made your clothes, dear," announced Dhexna, her voice soft as velvet, while holding the garments behind her back.


    "Oh..." replied Thamuz, his mind struggling to find an appropriate response.


    Dhexna rose with feline grace from Thamuz''s lap and unfolded the different garments in front of him. An imposing overcoat of a grayish black color that seemed to absorb light, accompanied by pants with several strategically placed straps, and boots of a deep black that faintly shone.


    "I bought the boots at another store, especially for you, darling," said Dhexna, her provocative tone making Thamuz blush slightly.


    "Th-thank you," stuttered Thamuz, slowly rising, feeling the weight of the gazes upon him.


    "Come on, try them on," insisted Dhexna, her impatience palpable in the air.


    Thamuz took the clothes from Dhexna''s hands and began to dress quickly, trying to maintain his dignity intact. When he finished, he looked at himself, marveled at the transformation.


    "They look good," he said, his voice filled with amazement.


    "Wait until I bring a mirror so you can see yourself better," said Dhexna, heading towards an adjoining room.


    She returned carrying a giant mirror with a strength that surprised both men. She placed it in front of Thamuz, who observed himself carefully, astonished by the new image that the reflection returned. The overcoat seemed to ripple slightly, as if an invisible breeze caressed it, and the straps on the pants shone with a metallic gleam.


    "So, how does it feel?" asked Narek, arms crossed and observing his friend with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.


    Thamuz straightened up, his shoulders thrown back, his posture emanating a confidence that had only been suggested before. His eyes shone with a new burning flame when he replied:


    "It feels... like I have power."

 Chapter 19: A little incovenience

    Thamuz and Narek left the store, while Dhexna followed them, opening the door to let her two customers out. The fresh air on the street contrasted with the stuffy atmosphere inside.


    "Don''t hesitate to visit me more often, dear!" Dhexna shouted, her voice echoing down the street as she watched Thamuz walk away.


    A shiver ran down Thamuz''s spine upon hearing those words. He turned his head one last time to see Dhexna and raised his hand in farewell, his new clothes swaying gently with the movement.


    Narek could barely contain his laughter, his face reddened and tears of amusement appearing in his eyes. Thamuz, noticing this, gave him a pat on the back that sounded like thunder.


    "Don''t make fun of that," he said, his voice tinged with annoyance and embarrassment.


    Narek let out a big sigh from Thamuz''s blow before bursting into laughter, holding his stomach and leaning on his knees.


    "The oldest tailor in the city, in love with a young man like you," he laughed uncontrollably, his voice broken by laughter.


    Thamuz, irritated by Narek''s teasing, continued walking with his hands in the pockets of his new coat. Narek, catching his breath, followed his pace and lightly touched his shoulder.


    "Hey! Don''t be like that, they were just small jokes," he said, trying to reconcile with his friend.


    "It''s the first time I''ve felt touched like that. I felt... strange," Thamuz confessed, his gaze lost on the horizon.


    "It''s understandable. You had never felt the touch of a woman other than your mother, and it had to be with one of the oldest people in this city. But, considering how great your clothes look, I think it was worth it," Narek commented, holding a piece of the coat Thamuz was wearing, admiring the quality of the fabric.


    "Yes, you''re right. Although I don''t understand why she reacted like that suddenly when she saw me," said Thamuz, remembering Dhexna''s first impression of him.


    "It''s normal for someone like her. After all, she''s never had any kind of romantic relationship in her three hundred and forty-five years of life," Narek replied, putting his hands on his back, his tone becoming more serious.


    "Really?" Thamuz questioned, surprise evident in his voice.


    "My father is one hundred and ten years old, and in all that time, he has never seen Dhexna with any man or woman. She''s simply someone reserved, with her only company being her fabrics and machines," Narek responded, his gaze fixed on the ground as the two walked.


    Suddenly, the sound of a loud bang echoed from a nearby alley. Narek and Thamuz turned their heads abruptly towards the noise, their senses alert.


    "Did you hear that, Narek?" Thamuz asked, his voice noting curiosity.


    "Loud and clear," Narek responded, his tone laden with a strange anticipation.


    Another bang sounded, followed by the crash of something heavy being knocked to the ground. Thamuz felt intrigued by the sounds, while Narek''s eyes widened, a spark of recognition shining in them.


    "It''s started," Narek murmured, as if in a trance.


    "Started what?" Thamuz questioned, his curiosity growing by the moment.


    "Follow me," Narek said with determination, starting to walk towards the alley.


    Thamuz, puzzled by the sudden change in his friend, followed him. His new coat billowed in the air like dark wings, and his black boots creaked rhythmically with each step, as if marking the beat of a hidden melody.


    Upon reaching the alley, Narek noticed the different advertising posters adorning the walls. They showed two burly, muscular men, their fists raised in combat position, their faces contorted in fierce determination.


    Thamuz also observed these notices, his gaze stopping on an address written in small letters at the bottom of the posters. Narek continued advancing until he stopped abruptly, his eyes fixed on the scene before him.


    "It''s begun," he whispered excitedly.


    Before them unfolded a small shamonak arena, a clandestine spectacle pulsing with raw and violent energy. Two fighters were in the center, their bodies tense in a low combat position, motionless like statues about to come to life.


    Thamuz reached Narek and contemplated the scene in amazement. Around them, small improvised stands housed a colorful crowd, their faces illuminated by a mixture of excitement and anxiety.


    "What is this?" Thamuz asked, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of apprehension.


    "These are unofficial shamonak fights, the most violent thing you can find in this city," Narek replied, with admiration in his voice.


    Narek looked back at Thamuz and gestured for him to follow. As they advanced, Thamuz absorbed the environment around him, his senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the scene.


    The people in the stands held various foods and drinks, some laughing with anticipation while others watched the combat with cautious eyes. Street vendors wandered among the crowd, hawking their wares with strident voices.


    "Get your blanket with the face of Obhelux, the fastest of them all!" shouted one of the vendors, waving a colorful cloth with the image of a fierce-looking fighter.


    Thamuz walked alongside Narek until they stopped in front of what appeared to be an improvised wooden establishment. A thin boy, considerably smaller than Narek, was standing with his back turned, manning the stand.


    "Hello, we want two tickets to see the fight," Narek said, holding up two fingers.


    The boy turned upon hearing Narek, a nervous smile lighting up his face as he held a worn sign.


    "That''ll be two green pamtan," the boy announced, his voice trembling slightly.


    "Alright, Thamuz, you pay," Narek said, walking away from the establishment with a mischievous smile.


    Thamuz''s imposing height prevented him from seeing the boy well, so he crouched down to be face to face, not realizing how his intimidating presence frightened the young vendor, who began to visibly tremble.


    "Don''t... hurt me," the boy pleaded, with a broken voice.


    "How am I going to hurt you? We don''t even know each other," Thamuz replied, confused. He rummaged in his pocket and took out his pamtan bag. "Here, two green pamtan."


    The boy extended his trembling hand and grabbed the coins, hurrying to open a drawer and take out two tickets that he handed to Thamuz with a quick gesture.


    Thamuz took the tickets and nodded his head, walking towards where Narek was waiting for him at the entrance stand. A girl examined their tickets with a critical eye before allowing them to pass.


    Upon entering the enclosure, Thamuz and Narek found themselves in an environment charged with energy and anticipation. They took their seats in the stands, their eyes fixed on the combat arena.


    The two fighters in the center were a study in contrasts. One, with multiple scars crisscrossing his face and a strange circle with a red dot in the center of his chest, was a mountain of muscles. The other, smaller but no less intimidating, sported a thick beard and claw marks painted on his chest.


    "Who are they?" Thamuz asked, curiosity palpable in his voice.


    "The one you see with many scars is called Bastion, ''the living dead,''" Narek replied, pointing to the giant.


    "Why do they call him that?" Thamuz questioned, intrigued.


    "He has never expressed a grimace of pain in all his fights, not even when they broke his arm or tore pieces of flesh from him," Narek explained, with horror in his voice.


    "What about the other one?" Thamuz asked, pointing to the bearded fighter with a gesture of his thumb.


    "That''s Obhelux, ''the voracious flash,''" Narek replied, a knowing smile on his lips. "He''s called that because his blows are so fast they can barely be seen, like flashes of light. It''s a spectacle to see him in action."


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    Thamuz nodded, his gaze alternating between the two fighters. He felt a strange mixture of fascination and apprehension, as if something inside him resonated with the raw energy of the place.


    The sharp sound of a bell tore through the air, announcing the start of the fight. The two fighters, previously motionless like marble statues, came to life, moving in circles, their eyes scrutinizing every detail of their opponent.


    Bastion, a mountain of muscle and scars, adopted a low position, his arms close to his chest, protecting his vital points. Obhelux, more agile and slender, extended one arm with an open hand, while the other remained close to his chest, his fist tightly clenched.


    Suddenly, Obhelux moved his foot and seemed to vanish into thin air, as if he were smoke. Bastion felt a brutal impact on his face, seeing Obhelux materialized in front of him, his open palm still vibrating from the blow.


    Bastion stepped back a few paces, his hand grazing his bleeding nose. However, his face remained impassive, showing not a hint of pain. He extended his arms, opening his palms as if trying to embrace the air itself.


    Obhelux let out a mocking laugh at his opponent''s stance. With an agile step, he disappeared again, reappearing to hit Bastion from different angles, his speed increasing with each attack.


    Bastion, covering his head to avoid a decisive blow, was executing a silent plan. He let Obhelux hit him incessantly, meticulously memorizing his rival''s attack pattern.


    "Now he''ll attack me on the shoulder," Bastion anticipated in his mind, his concentration unshakeable.


    He waited for Obhelux''s blow and, just as it was about to impact, raised his palm with millimetric precision, connecting with Obhelux''s face. The sound of bones cracking resonated in the arena, making the crowd hold their breath.


    Obhelux stepped back, his hands covering his bruised face. He looked up to see Bastion, imposing in front of him, his arms raised like the wings of a bird of prey. Obhelux''s eyes opened with disbelief and terror at what was about to happen.


    With a speed that contradicted his size, Bastion grabbed Obhelux by the back, his fingers sinking into his opponent''s spine. With a jump that seemed to defy gravity, he rose into the air, carrying a helpless Obhelux with him.


    The impact was brutal. Obhelux''s head crashed against the ground with seismic force, making the stands and the arena tremble. The crash was followed by a sepulchral silence.


    Obhelux lay on the ground, his body convulsing in search of air, while Bastion stood over him, his figure casting an ominous shadow over his fallen rival.


    "The fight is over!" exclaimed a resonant voice in the air, announcing the end of the epic confrontation.


    The crowd in the stands rose in unison, cheering fervently for Bastion. The champion, with an impassive face, descended from the combat arena with firm steps, getting lost among the human tide that chanted his name.


    "He really is an extraordinary fighter," Thamuz commented, applauding with admiration.


    "That technique he used is typical of a consummate master," Narek added, with a gleam of amazement in his eyes.


    As the heat of the battle dissipated, the spectators began to disperse, their voices intertwining in a tapestry of emotion and amazement at the spectacle they had witnessed. Thamuz and Narek joined the flow, their words brimming with enthusiasm for what they had just experienced.


    "What''s the name of that devastating technique that Bastion used?" Thamuz inquired, his curiosity palpable.


    "It''s the legendary Tomaketan," Narek explained fervently. "The pinnacle of shamonak, as difficult to master as it is powerful in its execution. It''s said that only one in a thousand warriors manages to perfect it."


    Suddenly, a voice as melodious as the song of an exotic bird rose above the murmur of the crowd.


    "Narek!" called the voice, laden with emotion.


    Narek turned with lightning speed, his eyes anxiously scrutinizing the crowd. His face lit up as he recognized the source of that voice.


    A girl emerged from among the people like a vision. Tall and slender, her hair fell like a silk waterfall to her waist. The horns that adorned her forehead shone faintly under the evening light.


    "Berkam!" exclaimed Narek, running towards her with his heart racing.


    They melted into an embrace that spoke of years of separation and a long-awaited reunion. Berkam lifted him effortlessly, spinning with joy, their laughter mixing in the air like music.


    "I''ve missed you more than the stars in a cloudy sky," Berkam whispered, her eyes brimming with tenderness.


    "And I''ve missed you more than the desert misses the rain," Narek responded, losing himself in her gaze.


    They gazed at each other in silence, words unnecessary between two souls that recognized each other. Their faces slowly drew closer, sealing their reunion with a kiss that was both sweet and violent.


    Thamuz observed how the passionate kiss between his friend and his beloved became increasingly intense. Their tongues intertwined and a thread of saliva glistened on their lips. The air seemed to charge with electricity as the couple lost themselves in their embrace.


    Uncomfortable, Thamuz looked away, though he couldn''t help but cast furtive glances from time to time. After two minutes that seemed like an eternity, the couple finally separated, panting slightly.


    "It''s really been a miracle to see you here," Berkam said with a breathless voice, gently lowering Narek to the ground.


    "I don''t frequent these places much, but I''m here for a friend who just arrived in the city," Narek explained, extending his hand towards where Thamuz was.


    Thamuz approached and raised his palm in greeting. Berkam observed with astonishment Thamuz''s imposing appearance and grabbed his hand energetically, shaking it effusively.


    "Pleased to meet you, my name is Berkam," she said, with overflowing enthusiasm in her voice. "I''m really excited to meet you."


    "Oh, wow, you really are quite extroverted," Thamuz responded, with a tone of nervousness in his voice.


    "It''s just that I don''t know many people who are as tall as I am. Besides, look at you, you seem like a warrior straight out of a legend," she explained, releasing his hand and arranging her copper mane.


    "Thanks?" said Thamuz, squinting his eyes, not knowing how to respond to the compliment.


    Berkam turned to Narek and held his hand. Due to her great height, Narek had to raise his arm a bit to reach her. The difference in height between them was notable, but somehow they seemed to fit perfectly.


    Narek and Berkam began to walk while Thamuz followed a few steps behind, with his hands in his pockets and observing how the couple conversed animatedly.


    "So, what have you been up to all this time?" Narek asked, with genuine curiosity in his voice.


    "My father taught me to sow various crops, plow the land, fell trees from the roots, and fight against beasts that try to destroy our herd," Berkam responded, showing a big smile that revealed her pride in her abilities. "I''ve learned to be as strong as the earth itself."


    Thamuz was half-listening to their conversations and felt happy to see Narek so enthusiastic about someone. However, just as they were about to exit the alley, a sound caught his attention: the unmistakable echo of footsteps behind him.


    He turned completely to investigate the source of the noise. What he saw left him paralyzed: a tall man covered by a ragged blanket rose menacingly in the gloom of the alley. One of his horns was broken, while the other remained intact, creating an asymmetrical and disturbing image. In his hand, he held what appeared to be a large metal bar, rusted and stained with a dark liquid that Thamuz preferred not to identify.


    Cautiously, Thamuz took his hands out of his pockets and stopped dead in his tracks. He positioned his body slightly sideways, in a defensive posture, and raised his hands to waist height, ready to act if necessary.


    The mysterious man fixed his gaze on Thamuz, revealing a mark on his face that looked like a ritual scar: a straight line crossed horizontally by three more lines. His eyes, of an unnatural amber color, shone with madness.


    Thamuz''s heart was pounding as sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes didn''t stray from the mysterious man, analyzing every subtle movement, every breath. The tension was palpable, as if the air itself had become dense and heavy.


    "Thamuz! Are you coming?" Narek''s voice resonated from the end of the alley, breaking the tense silence.


    Thamuz turned his head for an instant, seeing Narek wave his hand to get his attention. When he looked back at the stranger, his blood froze: the man had disappeared without a trace, as if he had melted into the shadows.


    With his pulse racing, Thamuz began to slowly back away, his senses on high alert. He turned his body, putting his hands in his pockets in an attempt to appear normal, but his eyes kept scanning the place where the man had been.


    Upon leaving the alley, he reunited with Narek and Berkam, joining their walk. However, the uneasiness had settled in his mind, refusing to leave him.


    "Hey, Narek, what part of the city are we in exactly?" Thamuz asked, his gaze cautiously scanning the surroundings.


    "We''re in the west, in the commercial zone," Narek replied, turning his head slightly to look at his friend with curiosity.


    "Is this... gang territory?" Thamuz''s question was laden with concern.


    "No, well, it''s not territory of the big gangs. Why do you ask?" Narek stopped, and Berkam imitated him, both focusing their attention on Thamuz.


    "It''s just that... I think I saw a man in the alley," Thamuz began, casting furtive glances behind him. "He was tall, covered by a ragged blanket, and carrying a large metal bar in his hands. But the strangest thing was a mark on his face: a straight line crossed by three horizontal lines."


    Narek''s face visibly paled. He turned his head towards Berkam, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and concern.


    "Have the Steel Fangs extended their territory?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.


    "I don''t know. I separated from their leader a long time ago," she replied, noticing Narek''s growing nervousness. "But if they''re here, things could get very ugly, very fast."


    "We need to move," Narek said urgently. "If the Fangs are really here, it''s not safe to stay in one place."


    The tension in the air became almost palpable when the sound of metal dragging across the ground broke the silence. Thamuz, Narek, and Berkam turned simultaneously, their faces paling at the scene unfolding before them.


    From the surrounding alleys emerged gang members, their threatening silhouettes cut against the gloom. Each wielded a metal bar, the distinctive symbol etched on their faces faintly glowing under the dim light of the street lamps.


    The trio tried to flee forward, but their escape was thwarted by the appearance of more gang members, these with an even fiercer and more athletic appearance. They were surrounded.


    With an agile movement, Thamuz stepped forward, protectively placing himself in front of Narek and Berkam. His body adopted a low combat stance, arms extended, ready to defend his friends against any threat.


    "Come on, get closer and I''ll hurt you," Thamuz challenged, his voice charged with adrenaline.


    However, the gang members remained motionless, their gazes fixed and impassive, as if they were stone sentinels. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the soft tinkling of the metal bars.


    Suddenly, a murmur rose from the rear of the group. The gang members began to move aside, opening a corridor between them. A figure emerged from the shadows, advancing with determined steps towards the front.


    It was a young man of medium height, slightly taller than Narek. His short hair framed a face marked by the hardships of life on the streets. The most striking thing was his horns: mutilated and deformed, as if they had been chewed by some monstrous beast. A deep scar furrowed his face from forehead to left eye, giving him an even more intimidating air. He wore a torn red blanket, without a hood, distinguishing him as the undisputed leader of the gang.


    His eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on Narek. A twisted smile drew on his lips before he spoke:


    "Well, well, what do we have here," his voice was soft, but laden with latent danger. "I told you a while ago that I didn''t want to see you again in my territories, Narek. And now you show up with my beloved."

 Chapter 20: it was never possible to know

    The silence that followed his words was deafening. Thamuz felt how Berkam tensed behind him, while Narek took a step forward, his face showing fear.


    "Korro," replied Narek, his voice barely a whisper. "We didn''t know this was your territory now. We''re not looking for trouble."


    Korro, the leader of the Steel Fangs, let out a dry laugh without humor. "Trouble has found you, old friend. And you too, Berkam," he added, his gaze shifting towards the tall woman. "It''s been a long time since you abandoned us."


    Thamuz, still in a defensive position, was quickly assessing the situation. They were outnumbered, and the tension in the air suggested that violence could erupt at any moment. His mind was working at full speed, looking for a way out, a way to protect his friends from the threat looming over them.


    The tension in the air became almost palpable as the verbal confrontation escalated. Berkam, with a feeling of pain and anger, defended herself:


    "You treated me as if I were just an object. I also have my life and my feelings, something you didn''t consider when we were together."


    Korro responded with barely contained fury:


    "Yeah! I bought you anything you wanted and you didn''t appreciate it. You only looked away, with no interest in me at all."


    The leader of the Steel Fangs shifted his attention to Thamuz, approaching with deliberately slow steps. He stopped in front of him, scrutinizing him with a contemptuous look.


    "And what hole did you crawl out of?" asked Korro, narrowing his eyes.


    "From no hole. I''m someone normal like you," replied Thamuz, his voice laden with irritation.


    Korro''s mocking laughter echoed in the alley, followed by the laughter of his gang.


    "Normal? That''s the last thing I expected you to say about yourself."


    Narek, unable to contain his frustration, muttered:


    "He''s more normal than you."


    The whisper didn''t go unnoticed by Korro, who turned sharply towards Narek, his face inches from his.


    "Could you repeat that?" challenged Korro, the implicit threat in his tone.


    Narek, in a burst of courage, shouted:


    "Thamuz is more normal than you, you ruthless bastard!"


    A sepulchral silence fell over the group. Korro, with eyes and mouth wide open, looked at his gang, who reflected his astonishment. Turning his attention back to Narek, a sinister smile drew on his face.


    "Well, it seems you''ve finally grown the balls you were missing," he said with venomous sarcasm.


    Berkam, taking advantage of the momentary distraction, stepped forward:


    "Korro, this doesn''t have to end badly. We''ve all changed. We can resolve this in a civilized manner."


    The leader of the Steel Fangs let out a bitter laugh.


    "Civilized? In these streets? I think you''ve forgotten how things work here, dear."


    Thamuz, feeling that the situation could get out of control at any moment, intervened:


    "Listen, Korro. We don''t want trouble. Just let us go and we won''t set foot in your territory again. You have my word."


    Korro observed Thamuz with renewed interest, as if he were evaluating him in a new light.


    "Your word? And what value does the word of someone I don''t even know have?" he questioned, his tone showing disdain.


    Thamuz, upon hearing Korro''s response, tensed his muscles and gritted his teeth. His eyes turned an intense red color combined with black, and his horns seemed to enlarge along with his body. He opened his mouth and a dark voice began to speak:


    "Look, I''m trying to find the most peaceful solution I can imagine, I don''t want to hurt anyone, nor do I want you to hurt me or my friends, so you better retreat with your gang if you don''t want me to break everyone''s bones!"


    Korro felt impressed by Thamuz''s threat. He crossed his arms and expressed a mocking smile, raising his palm in the air and snapping his fingers. Immediately, four hooded figures of the same size as Thamuz rose in the distance, heading towards where Korro was.


    "What are your orders, sir?" said one of the figures, kneeling.


    "Rip out their ribs and stab their necks with them," ordered Korro, without taking his eyes off Thamuz.


    The hooded figures nodded and walked towards Thamuz, raising their arms while others cracked their knuckles, the sound resonating in the silent tension of the moment.


    "Go through an empty alley. Narek, take a carriage with Berkam and go to your house quickly," said Thamuz, retreating as he saw the figures approaching.


    "But what about you, Thamuz? I can''t leave you here alone," protested Narek, clinging to Berkam''s arm, who upon hearing Thamuz''s order grabbed him and tried to flee with him.


    "Don''t worry about me. If you stay, I''ll have to take care of both of you. Besides..." said Thamuz, turning his head to look at Narek, "I''ve already won two shamonak fights to the death; this will be nothing but a piece of cake."


    Narek looked at Thamuz with eyes of concern and turned to look at Korro, who returned his gaze and showed him a big smile, Narek turned his gaze to where Thamuz was and nodded, fleeing with Berkam.


    "Well, now it''s just you," said Korro, putting his hands in his pockets.


    "Yes, it''s more than enough to put you in your place," replied Thamuz, taking an attack position.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "Whatever you say, friend," said Korro, raising his palm again and lowering it.


    The hooded figures, four in total, ran towards Thamuz. They lowered their arms and extended their palms, trying to grab him.


    Thamuz, noticing this, jumped nimbly, dodging the grip of one of the hooded figures. As he descended, he delivered a powerful stomp to its head, causing the ground to crack under the impact.


    The other hooded figures retreated, surprised to see how one of them had been defeated so easily. They began to walk in circles, surrounding Thamuz.


    "You''ve got some fighter in you, boy," said one of the figures.


    "You still have time to surrender," warned Thamuz, closely observing their movements.


    "We can''t let a young man humiliate us like this," replied another figure.


    The three remaining figures lunged at Thamuz, who, taken by surprise, couldn''t respond in time. He was immobilized, receiving the impact and shock of their attacks.


    Thamuz quickly tensed his muscles, trying to minimize the impact of the blows he was receiving, from slaps to kicks aimed at his ribs.


    The barrage of blows continued until Thamuz, with a heart-rending scream, raised his fist and hit the head of one of the figures, nailing it to the ground as if it were a nail.


    The two remaining figures gasped in fear upon seeing how another of their companions had been defeated so decisively.


    They retreated, maintaining their attack position, while Thamuz remained still, not assuming any movement.


    Desperate, one of the figures ran towards Thamuz, trying to embrace him to execute a hold.


    Thamuz received the grip, stepping back a few paces due to the force his rival was exerting. He grabbed his opponent''s hips and lifted him into the air.


    "I always warn them, but they never listen to me," said Thamuz, placing his opponent''s legs on his shoulders, then slamming him to the ground with great force, making him bounce and fall right at the feet of the last remaining hooded figure.


    The last hooded figure saw how his companion was gasping for air, while vomiting blood. He raised his head to look at Thamuz and took a defensive pose, extending his right arm with an open palm while his left arm was next to his chest, with his hand closed.


    Thamuz took an attack stance, extending his arms and slowly approaching his rival.


    "I saw that pose before, is that pose only focused on defense?" asked Thamuz, with curiosity in his voice.


    "Why should I tell you?" replied the hooded figure.


    Thamuz gave a slight sigh and stared into his rival''s eyes. He lunged at him and tried to give him a palm strike, but the hooded figure grabbed his arm and gave him a strong blow to the chin.


    Thamuz felt the impact completely, stepping back a few paces and rubbing his chin, noticing that it had a small tear.


    "You hit very hard," said Thamuz, noting the skill of the hooded figure.


    "Your chin is very weak," replied the figure, with a mocking tone.


    Thamuz laughed a little along with him and prepared. He launched himself against him again, but instead of making a palm strike, he tried to grab him with both arms.


    The hooded figure, seeing this, stepped back a little, causing Thamuz to simply grab the air. He raised his leg and delivered a kick to the face that sounded like a large rock had fallen on the stage.


    "He''s already knocked out," said Korro, with a mocking smile as he crossed his arms.


    Thamuz had remained static in his position, looking at the sky while his neck was backwards in a twisted position. Suddenly, he started laughing and began to walk backwards. He lowered his head and stared into the eyes of the hooded figure.


    "Well, if you''re going to play that way," he said, between laughs.


    He walked backwards until he touched a rock, stopping in his position. He joined his arms and gave himself a small turn, raising his shoulder while holding his forearm.


    "I saw my father do this technique once against a defensive position identical to yours. The result was... somewhat violent," he said, tensing his muscles.


    The hooded figure, although intimidated, maintained his defensive posture. The air was charged with tension as Thamuz prepared to execute his father''s technique.


    In an instant, Thamuz launched forward with superhuman speed. His body spun in the air, his shoulder extended like a spear. The hooded figure tried to block, but the force of the impact was overwhelming.


    Thamuz''s shoulder broke through his opponent''s defense, connecting directly with his solar plexus. A chilling crunch was heard, and the hooded figure was sent flying backwards.


    In the distance, under the dim light of the gas lamps, two figures could be seen sitting at an elegant table. A woman dressed in an embroidered silk dress and a man wearing shining armor as if it were his second skin. They were enjoying an exquisite dinner while exchanging words in low voices, surrounded by a circle of soldiers with equally imposing armor, their faces hidden behind polished steel helmets.


    "So, darling, how was your day?" asked the woman, her melodious voice contrasting with the tinkling of silver cutlery.


    The man chewed thoughtfully before responding:


    "Quite unusual, actually. Today we had to pick up a guy who looked like he had an encounter with an enraged giant. His knee was shattered and his back... well, let''s say it looked like a map of fractures."


    "By Azhamat," exclaimed the woman, bringing a jeweled hand to her chest. "Who would be capable of such brutality?"


    The man leaned forward, lowering his voice:


    "According to witnesses, it was the work of a sort of colossus. Skin black as ebony, eyes red as burning rubies, and horns that would make a demon pale. And the strangest thing, he was accompanied by a young man, almost a child in comparison."


    The woman frowned, her eyes shining with a mixture of fascination and fear.


    "What a relief that they have him identified. Such a creature... it can''t be from this world. What if it were some kind of summoned demon?"


    The man let out a laugh, making a disdainful gesture with his fork.


    "Demon or not, he will taste the edge of my sword if he dares to cause more problems. I''ll send him back to the hell he came from."


    Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood. A hooded figure crashed into their table with the force of a meteorite, sending plates and glasses flying through the air.


    The woman stifled a scream, while the man jumped up, his hand instinctively seeking the hilt of an absent sword. His eyes fell on the fallen figure, noticing the distinctive mark on his face barely visible under the torn hood.


    "Damned Steel Fangs," growled the man, his voice tinged with anger and disgust. "What the hell are they up to now?"


    The soldiers formed a protective circle around the couple, their drawn weapons gleaming under the moonlight. The silence that followed was broken by a pitiful moan from the fallen figure, and the distant sound of more breaking glass.


    The woman, regaining her composure, approached her husband and whispered:


    "Darling, I think your wish to face that demon may have come true sooner than expected."


    The woman pointed towards the horizon with a trembling hand. The man turned abruptly and was stunned by the scene unfolding: Thamuz, an imposing and terrifying figure, was fighting against a horde of Steel Fangs gang members. The man made a grimace of disgust and extended his right arm with authority.


    "Give me my sword," he ordered in a firm voice.


    Meanwhile, Thamuz was in the eye of a hurricane of violence. The gang members attacked him frantically from all sides, their metal bars whistling through the air. Some bent or broke upon contact with Thamuz''s seemingly indestructible skin, while others barely managed to scratch him.


    "Finish him!" shouted Korro, his voice tinged with desperation and rage.


    Finding himself overwhelmed by the number of attackers, Thamuz improvised. He grabbed the leg of one of the hooded figures he had previously defeated and used it as a macabre club. The gang members flew through the air as if they were dry leaves, hit by Thamuz''s colossal strength and the inert body of one of their fallen comrades.


    Korro, seeing how his gang was being decimated, tried to flee in panic. However, his escape was frustrated when he crashed into what seemed to be a living steel wall. He looked up and found himself face to face with one of the elite soldiers. They had formed an impenetrable circle, cutting off all escape routes.


    "In the name of the bishop''s guards, I order you to stop all this!" thundered an authoritative voice from behind the soldiers.


    Thamuz stopped instantly, dropping the body he had been using as a weapon. His eyes scanned the battlefield, observing the scattered bodies of the gang he had reduced to rubble.


    The man in shining armor advanced, wielding an imposing sword that reflected the moonlight. His voice resonated with the weight of the law:


    "I, Bhelisarius, place you both under arrest."


    The silence that followed was absolute. Thamuz, covered in blood and sweat, stared at Bhelisarius, assessing the situation. Korro, for his part, was visibly trembling, trapped between the terror that Thamuz inspired in him and the fear of the kingdom''s justice.

 Lore visual drop: Yhamak

    In the dawn of existence, a giant planet, almost destroyed, rose up. However, the castle still remained on it, impeccable, as if it had been immune to the various catastrophic events that had ravaged that world.


    In its gardens was an enigmatic figure covered in a robe, examining with its multiple eyes the various plantations and flowers that surrounded it. Each plant seemed to tell a different story, some so beautiful that they seemed taken from an ethereal dream, while others were true nightmare abominations, as if they had been created by a twisted mind.


    The figure approached a particularly disfigured plant, with what appeared to be pulsating tumors around its root. It took a bucket containing an iridescent liquid and carefully poured it over the sick plant.


    "Well, with this you''ll be able to live for another fifty years," muttered the figure, tossing the empty bucket aside. Its voice was soft but resonated with ancestral knowledge.


    As it contemplated its work, the figure felt a sudden change in the environment. The air turned icy, as if the sun had completely disappeared from its place in an instant. Upon turning, it found itself face to face with an ominous shadow that loomed over it. Although it lacked evident facial features, the presence seemed to stare fixedly at the multi-eyed figure with an unsettling intensity.


    "Oh, you''re here again. What do you want to learn now?" asked the figure, crossing its arms with an air of familiarity towards the strange entity.


    The shadow extended a grotesque mass of ethereal tentacles and handed the figure a small mineral of a deep, bright blue.


    "Wow!" exclaimed the figure with great surprise. "You''ve brought me some benthum. Fascinating."


    The shadow nodded and approached the figure''s ear, whispering in a tone that seemed to come from the depths of the cosmos. The multi-eyed figure nodded slowly, processing the information.


    "You want to learn about the yhamak?" asked the figure, its voice tinged with curiosity.


    "Yes..." replied the shadow in an otherworldly tone that made the air around it vibrate.


    "Well, first you wanted to learn about the way they fought, and now you want to know about their race," commented the figure, scratching its head thoughtfully.


    The figure began to walk towards the castle, with the shadow following closely behind. As they advanced through the dim hallways, the figure shared its knowledge:


    "You know, someone came a while ago claiming to be from the same planet where the yhamak live. He claimed to have grown up there and have yhamak parents, but I have my doubts. His skin was black as the cosmic void, he was exceptionally tall and muscular, with fiery red eyes. Very different from the yhamak I know."


    "Bhatzeid..." whispered the shadow.


    The figure turned its head and looked at the shadow with its multiple eyes, which seemed to have stopped.


    "My name is Bhatzeid..." whispered the shadow again.


    "I thought you didn''t have a name," expressed the figure, laughing a little.


    "Yours?" asked Bhatzeid.


    "Mine? I''ve long forgotten it, can you believe it? I keep a great amount of information, writing down every event that happens in existence, while I''m not able to remember something as simple as my name," expressed the figure, continuing its way.


    "Do you at least have a nickname?" asked Bhatzeid again.


    "Yes, if you want, call me the Supervisor," replied the figure.


    They arrived at a gigantic door. With a gesture of its hands, the figure opened the door, revealing a vast library full of ancient tomes and strange artifacts floating in the air.


    The Supervisor went to a blue shelf and took out a book. It sat at a giant table that was placed right in the center of the library, raised its hand, and a chair began to float, placing it in front of him.


    "Sit down, friend," said the Supervisor.


    Bhatzeid took an almost humanoid form and sat in front of the Supervisor. It materialized eyes along with ears and put its hand on its chin, paying too much attention to what the Supervisor was going to say.


    "Well, chapter one..." began the Supervisor.


    Origins of the Yhamak


    The yhamak are a race from the planet Aldheran. Their origins date back to the first years when the planet was formed, when everything was complete chaos and giant beasts reigned throughout the place.


    The yhamak race lived in the depths of caves, hydrating themselves with the moisture excreted by the walls due to the constant sulfur rains that formed. The qualities of the stones made the water filter through so that it was drinkable for anyone who decided to drink from the rock walls.


    But everything changed when the planet began to transform, heating its core, making the caves where they lived heat up in such a way that they seemed like a rustic oven to them.


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The deplorable conditions made them come out, facing the cruel world outside. Some decided to stay in the caves, but they made the decision to kill and take the blood of their dead to survive.


    Those who had completely left the caves settled in places far from the giant beasts, until, through a series of events, they discovered that the blood of the beasts could quench their thirst.


    This continued until the animals seemed to disappear from the planet, forcing all the yhamak to cannibalize themselves to drink blood. It wasn''t until Yhamataw appeared, defeating all the evil yhamak and restoring order throughout their race.


    Yhamataw''s sacrifice made the yhamak race prosper, living in harmony and abundance, learning new things and building the foundations of various kingdoms scattered across the planet of Aldheran.


    The fiery planet that once was aldheran


    Biology of the yhamak


    Male Yhamaks have the unique characteristic of being born with two different types of skin. The grey Yhamaks are the strongest from birth; their bones are denser, their lungs larger to better conserve energy, they stand over two meters tall, and the horns that sprout from their heads are notably larger. Those born with this skin color typically become shamonak fighters or soldiers of their respective kingdoms.


    On the other hand, Yhamaks born with a nearly pink skin color are the most common in the population. They are strong but not as much as the greys. Those born with this skin color usually take on heavy labor jobs such as agriculture, while some brave individuals attempt to become shamonak fighters. Most fail, but a few manage to make their mark in the history of shamonak.


    In addition to their physical traits, male Yhamaks possess other remarkable characteristics, such as:


    <ul>


    <li>They can withstand high temperatures due to their planet''s former environment, with a maximum limit of 145 degrees.</li>


    <li>Their strength is extraordinary even without training; they can lift rocks four times their size effortlessly and carry heavy loads on their shoulders while walking without breaking a sweat.</li>


    <li>Their durability and endurance are also noteworthy. They can endure significant physical punishment before succumbing to pain and can run long distances without feeling any fatigue.</li>


    <li>The horns on their heads usually grow on their foreheads, but there have been cases where they have grown on the top of their heads, on the sides, behind their heads, or even on their cheeks.</li>


    </ul>


    An grey and a pink yhamak


    Female yhamak


    Yhamak females, in comparison to their male counterparts, exhibit many differences. Their bodies are slender and sometimes considerably shorter, with the tallest reaching a height of one meter and ninety centimeters. They have the peculiarity of being born with different skin colors, which are more varied compared to the males. They can be born with pale/whitish, red, or the rarest, blue skin color.


    White skin in yhamak females signifies purity and innocence, with most maintaining a youthful personality for almost their entire lives. In contrast, those born with red skin exhibit increasing violence and possess extraordinary strength compared to those with white skin. They typically become soldiers when they reach adulthood.


    On the other hand, those born with blue skin are coveted by powerful individuals, who force them into marriage or keep them as prized possessions. This is because, for the yhamak population, the blue color is associated with Azhamat, the creator god of everything.


    Female yhamak are usually housewives, with males dominating the relationship. However, on special occasions, it has been shown that white female yhamak are capable of dominating even the fiercest yhamak.


    Although they appear slimmer and more emaciated than the average male yhamak, when it comes to protecting their family, they become the fiercest beasts ever seen on the planet. There have even been cases where they have fought against a mhonktan to protect their offspring.


    Female yhamak have a much longer lifespan than males. While males can live up to three hundred years if well cared for, female yhamak can easily reach five hundred years.


    Yhamak culture


    The culture of the yhamak is nothing out of the ordinary. There are songs, paintings, and various artistic works that recount past events, such as the Blood Scourge, a disease that ravaged much of the planet, bringing the yhamak to the brink of extinction. But the greatest event for the yhamak is the Shamonak.


    The Shamonak is a martial art that consists of grappling, open-palm strikes, and most importantly, the resilience of the fighter. Shamonak fights take place in a small combat arena, with the only rules being that the loser must be knocked out or leave the arena to be disqualified.


    There is a special type of Shamonak fight that takes place every fifty years, called "Shamonak to the Death," where the only rule is not to fall out of the arena. You can kill your opponent and use any technique; it doesn''t matter if it''s kicks or bites, as long as you harm your opponent, it''s valid.


    Outside of Shamonak, the yhamak focus on trade as their main source of income, selling everything from food to items that can only be found on other planets.


    Two shamonak fighters before their fight


    Religion of the yhamak


    The majority of the yhamak follow a single religion, the religion of Azhamat. Ancient tales describe Azhamat as the youngest in a lineage of gods, with his father being Khixnot, the god of the stars. Azhamat¡¯s older brothers were named Vhixun and Trixon, both gods of the same element: chance, while Azhamat inherited the power to give life.


    Azhamat was seen as weak due to his less offensive capabilities; he preferred to be alone and focus on bringing life to inhospitable planets that showed no signs of growth. Meanwhile, his brothers manipulated chance to do harmful things, such as deciding the fate of various civilizations or influencing their destruction.


    It wasn¡¯t until one of the plagues killed his family, a plague named Halebeorth, the plague of the unknown. The way it killed Azhamat¡¯s family honored its name: it was so mysterious that when he saw the bodies of his brothers and father, it took him ten years to recognize who was responsible for it.


    But instead of seeking revenge, he took it as an opportunity. He was no longer bound by his father¡¯s actions or his brothers¡¯ destruction, so he could focus more on what he loved: creating life and watching it grow. He gave life to a total of three thousand five hundred planets, with seventy-seven percent becoming prosperous civilizations full of life, while others were destroyed, similarly, by the influence of external plagues.


    Azhamat¡¯s last known whereabouts were during the great war against the plagues, which was led by the interplanetary doctor Francius Bonclay.


    Azhamat, god of life, son of the starbringer.

 Chapter 21: the confinement of a thought

    An armored carriage with steel plates and bars wound its way along a path in the middle of a valley bathed in the faint moonlight. The driver nodded off, fighting against sleep, while the beast of burden pulled the heavy vehicle with effort.


    With a sigh of boredom, the driver rested his cheek on his hand and raised a finger, trying to measure the distance on the horizon.


    "From what I can see, it''s forty minutes until we reach the prison," he muttered, clinging to the beast''s reins.


    He turned his head slightly to take a look inside the carriage. Thamuz and Korro lay chained hand and foot, dimly lit by the torch attached to the cart.


    "You know, I''ve had these chains on my wrists so many times that it''s easy to get out of them," Korro said smugly.


    "Really? Why don''t you try it now?" Thamuz questioned, with a clearly sarcastic tone.


    "You don''t believe me? Just watch," Korro replied, defiantly.


    Korro tensed his muscles, bringing his arms together with great effort. The screeching sound of metal against metal filled the air as he struggled to free himself, determined to prove Thamuz wrong.


    However, all his effort was in vain. The chains didn''t yield a millimeter, provoking a laugh from the driver.


    "Those are the new chains that the bishop''s guards had made! They''re very good, aren''t they?" he exclaimed proudly.


    "Yeah, whatever. When I get out of this carriage, I''m going to rip your eyes out," Korro growled, with evident annoyance in his voice.


    "Sure, if you can get out," the driver replied, turning his attention back to the road.


    Korro leaned back in his seat with a sigh of irritation, while thamuz maintained a serene and calm posture, his body leaning forward and his hands relaxed on his legs.


    "Well, if only you hadn''t crossed my territory, none of this would have happened," Korro complained. "You''d be in your rich man''s house with Narek, while I''d still be with my gang, doing whatever I wanted."


    "It would be best if your territory didn''t cover a large part of the city. Besides, I was new here, I couldn''t have known anything about that," Thamuz replied, his gaze fixed on the carriage ceiling.


    "Yeah, whatever. Now we''re both here, heading towards one of the largest prisons on this planet, where shit becomes even shittier," Korro said, with a bitter laugh.


    "Have you ever been there?" Thamuz asked, intrigued by Korro''s description.


    "Yes, several times. I always escaped because the prison guards were the worst of the worst. You could show them the most dangerous criminal on this planet and they''d mistake him for a simple farmer," Korro replied, raising his chained hands slightly.


    "Are the walls very strong?" Thamuz questioned.


    "The walls? Well, they''re made of a resistant material. They''ve been tested against giant explosions and only come out with a few scratches," Korro explained, simulating the sound of an explosion with his mouth.


    "Then they''re not that strong," Thamuz said, looking towards the driver.


    "What? Do you have something hidden to bring them down?" Korro questioned, incredulous.


    Thamuz raised his hands and closed his fists. The cracking of his knuckles sounded dry and impressive, making Korro shudder.


    "Don''t tell me you''re thinking of knocking down the walls with your fists," Korro said, with a tone of disbelief.


    "If necessary," Thamuz responded calmly.


    "I don''t believe you. I don''t think you have the strength capable of doing that, nor do I think you''ll have enough courage to survive a day in that prison. The big criminals will make mincemeat out of you or turn you into their personal toys!" Korro exclaimed, with great anger in his voice.


    Thamuz listened to Korro''s words and raised his hands again, this time clearly showing his chains. He exerted a colossal force and broke them in two, leaving his arms free.


    "Do you want me to slowly rip your head off to prove to you that I have enough courage to survive in that prison?" Thamuz asked, in a deadly serious tone.


    Korro watched as Thamuz''s iris began to glow a crimson red, while his sclera turned black.


    "No, I don''t want that," Korro whispered, like a scolded child.


    "Good, then don''t talk about things you don''t know," Thamuz decreed, lowering his hands and leaning back in his seat.


    The driver had heard how Thamuz broke his chains, but he didn''t dare turn around. Fear paralyzed him, knowing he was transporting a being capable of breaking the chains that the bishop''s guards had specially designed to contain very powerful prisoners.


    "So, what''s your story?" Korro asked, his eyes shining with curiosity.


    "Why would you want to know?" Thamuz replied, casting a furtive glance at Korro''s face.


    "Well, the road is long and it will be boring. Just to pass the time," Korro explained, sketching a small smile.


    "Well, if you say so..." Thamuz said, placing his hands behind his head and closing his eyes, as if he were about to plunge into a deep sleep.


    "According to my parents, I was born six years ago. They found me in a giant crater, crying and kicking as if I had fallen from the sky itself. They decided to adopt me, despite my peculiar appearance compared to them.


    My mother taught me all the basics: talking, how take care of myself, walking, going to the bathroom, and all that.


    My father, a retired warrior, prepared me as if I were a born fighter. He would take me to the field and teach me about the different creatures that inhabited our world, from the majestic mhonktan of the mountains to the elusive insects that hid in the rocks. He instructed me in survival methods and how to defend myself.


    We lived a practically normal life until one day a boy who seemed to be my age arrived. His name was Shandam and his eyes reflected the terror of someone who has seen too much for his young age. He said he had escaped from the chambers of an evil king and came to my house asking for refuge. We would have taken him in if it hadn''t been for a mark on his neck; my father was too frightened when he saw it.


    It wasn''t long before that evil king, Zarakel, appeared at our door. Shandam and I tried to hide while my parents talked to the tyrant, but it was in vain. The king found him and revealed the truth: Shandam was the toy of his morbid son, Gigantino, an idiot prince.


    But fate had other plans. As soon as Zarakel learned that I was the son of Tawnylon, a legend in the world of shamonak, his eyes gleamed with malice. He challenged me to a shamonak tournament, where I would have to defeat different warriors until I faced his son. It was a trap, of course, but also my only chance to save Shandam.


    So I set off for the city, leaving behind everything I knew. The first thing I did was enter the tournament. I defeated my first opponent with two moves. My second opponent gave me a great battle; I even thought I was going to die. But an unknown force made me get up stronger each time, I even developed some scales during that combat as if it were armor, and I managed to come out victorious.


    And here I am now, in this city full of wonders and dangers. Narek, the son of a friend of my father, has been teaching me every new and beautiful thing this place has. I''ve learned about the ancient customs that flow through the streets and the secrets hidden in every corner. Until, well, you guys came along."


    Korro listened attentively to every word Thamuz said, with his eyes wide open and his ears moving to the way Thamuz recounted each event. The story seemed to be taken from an ancient legend.


    "Are you the challenger of shamonak to death?" he asked, with great amazement in his voice.


    "Challenger? So you know me before our encounter," Thamuz replied, with a mixture of surprise and pride in his voice.


    "Yes, when it was known that there was going to be a shamonak to death tournament so early, there was a big uproar. But everything changed when it was announced that there would only be five combats, with a single challenger who would have to go through those five deadly trials," Korro explained, crossing his hands nervously. "Some say it''s suicide, others that it''s destiny manifesting itself."


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    "I see. Zarakel spread the news of who I was throughout the city," Thamuz said, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "It seems the old tyrant wants to make this a great spectacle when I face off against his son."


    "Does that bother you?" Korro asked, with a bit of concern in his voice.


    "Actually, no," Thamuz responded with a defiant smile. "I want everyone to see my face, so they recognize me better when I have that Gigantino on the ground, begging me to stop hitting him. It will be a reminder that even the most powerful can fall."


    "Wow, a lot of confidence on your part," Korro expressed, raising his head to get a better look at Thamuz.


    "Fear has no place in my heart," Thamuz said seriously. "But anyway, I''ve told my story. What about yours, Korro? Something tells me you also have a fascinating story to tell."


    Korro leaned back in his seat, his gaze lost in the ceiling. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength to unearth painful memories. When he opened them again, there was sadness in them. He took a breath and began to relate:


    "I was born at the bottom of society, where hope is a luxury few can afford. My father, a shamonak fighter, died in a brutal fight. They broke his ribs and the bones stabbed his internal organs. He had a slow and painful death, his screams of agony still echo in my nightmares.


    My mother was devastated by his death. The pain consumed her so much that she fell gravely ill, as if her body had decided to follow my father to the other world. I was just a child, but I understood that if I didn''t do something, I would lose her too.


    I did everything to get enough money for her medicines. I worked at the docks, carrying boxes until my hands bled. I cleaned stables, swallowing my pride and the stench. I even stole when necessary, desperation clouding my judgment.


    In my desperation, I went to the great sanctuaries where they worshipped Azhamat, the god of life. I begged for help, offered my life in service, but none dared to help me. Their cold eyes and empty words about the ''divine plan'' only fueled a fire of resentment within me.


    It had been two months of constant struggle when I returned home one night, exhausted and empty-handed once again. The silence that greeted me was deafening. I found my mother dead in her bed, her body so thin it barely seemed to have shape. She had died of malnutrition and the disease I could never treat.


    The image of her emaciated and decayed body haunts me to this day. I went crazy for a while, wandering the streets like a specter, feeding on my own rage and pain.


    It was then that I had the idea that would change my life forever. What if I make a gang?, I asked myself. What if I surround myself with people like me, abandoned by society, and give them orders to do what I want? It was a way to channel my hatred towards all the people who turned their backs on me, to take control in a world that had taken everything from me.


    And so I did. I started with a few desperate ones like me, offering them protection and purpose. Little by little, that gang became a large organization. Now we terrorize all those who dare to defy us or those who deny help to those in need, as they once denied it to me.


    Some call me a criminal, others see me as an avenger. The truth is that I am the product of a society that abandons its own. Every act I commit, every order I give, is a reminder to those who live comfortably in their ivory towers: suffering has consequences, and I am that consequence."


    Thamuz had his hands on his chin, with his gaze fixed ahead. He glanced around and gave a slight sigh, as if weighing the weight of Korro''s words.


    "Two such different stories, Korro," Thamuz said, trying to find a precise answer. "And yet, both shaped by pain and injustice."


    The carriage stopped abruptly, interrupting their reflections. Korro looked through the bars and his expression darkened. They had arrived at the great prison, a monument to terror adorned with corpses hanging from ropes and bodies impaled on stakes. The air itself seemed charged with suffering.


    "We''re here," Korro said, returning to his seat with resignation in his voice.


    The carriage doors opened with an ominous creak. Several soldiers with imposing armor and prominent horns on their foreheads stood outside, holding swords and what appeared to be long-range weapons. Their eyes, cold and emotionless, scrutinized the prisoners.


    "You, come out," ordered a soldier, pointing at Korro with a metal-gloved finger.


    "Just me?" Korro asked, pointing at himself with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.


    The soldier nodded dryly. Korro turned to Thamuz, raising his fist in a gesture of camaraderie and sketching a smile that seemed to defy death itself.


    "Apparently they''ll take you somewhere else. Until we meet again, comrade," Korro said, raising his fist even higher, as if wanting to engrave this moment in his memory.


    "If you manage to escape, I''d like to meet up to talk a bit more," Thamuz expressed, raising his own fist and bumping it against Korro''s.


    The soldiers hurried Korro to get down, holding him firmly by the shoulders. They closed the door of the carriage where Thamuz was with a dry bang that resonated like a sentence. The driver, without wasting time, whipped his beast with a cruel lash, and the vehicle set off again.


    The road became rocky and irregular, causing the carriage to shake violently. Thamuz remained calm, his gaze lost in the ceiling, observing how rays of light began to filter through the cracks, drawing changing patterns in the gloom.


    "Where are we going now?" Thamuz asked, turning his head to look at the driver.


    "Shut up! You''re not allowed to speak for the entire journey!" shouted the driver, turning to give Thamuz a threatening look.


    The response did not please Thamuz. With a quick and powerful movement, he hit the floor of the carriage with such force that his foot was embedded in the wood, instantly stopping the vehicle.


    "What did you say?" Thamuz asked, his voice loaded with a barely veiled threat.


    The driver began to tremble uncontrollably, looking discreetly back. His hands clung to the beast''s reins as if they were a lifeline.


    "We-we''re going to a castle," he stuttered, his voice barely a trembling whisper.


    "A castle? How interesting. Get there quickly, I want to see what it''s like," Thamuz ordered, raising his foot and crossing his arms with an attitude that admitted no reply.


    The driver, still trembling, obeyed without a word. He whipped the beast again, this time with more urgency than cruelty, and the carriage rushed at full speed towards its destination. Thamuz, satisfied, closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief rest.


    When Thamuz woke up, the carriage had already stopped. He looked through the bars and was impressed. Before him stood a colossal castle, a fortress that looked more like a bastion of war than a residence.


    The carriage door opened, but to Thamuz¡¯s surprise, it was not armed soldiers who greeted him. Instead, a group of women with pale skin and short black hair awaited him. They wore long white robes, and each bore a distinctive scar on their eyes, a visible reminder of some unknown sacrifice or ritual.


    "Come, please," said one of the women, extending her hand to Thamuz. Her voice was soft but firm, and her eyes, though marked, shone with sharp intelligence.


    Thamuz observed the extended hand for a moment, weighing his options. Finally, with a deliberate movement, he took the woman¡¯s hand and stepped out of the carriage. As he did, his eyes scanned the imposing castle, noting every detail.


    "Follow us, please," said one of the women with a melodious voice, extending her hand to the right in an elegant gesture inviting Thamuz to walk.


    Thamuz advanced with some difficulty due to the chains on his feet, but his boldness was evident in every firm step he took. The women who accompanied him emanated an aura of mystery so dense it was almost palpable. Each seemed a reflection of the other, distinguished only by the position of their scars: some bore them on the eye, others near the mouth, like marks of an enigmatic past.


    Their way of walking defied logic; they moved with supernatural grace, as if carried by invisible currents of air. The sound of their steps was nonexistent, increasing the sense of being in the presence of ethereal beings.


    They entered the castle, their steps echoing in the stone corridors until they reached what seemed to be the central courtyard. The contrast was overwhelming: in the midst of the castle''s dark atmosphere, a garden of blood-red flowers bloomed, giving the place a sinister beauty.


    Thamuz constantly turned his head, his eager eyes absorbing every detail. He noticed the workers in charge of maintaining the courtyard, who, upon seeing him pass, stood and lowered their hats in a gesture that seemed more of funeral respect than courtesy.


    The group entered a corridor flanked by guards as still as statues. They held spears and wore cloaks that hid the lower part of their bodies, adding an air of mystery to their threatening presence.


    One of the women extracted a key from her robe¡¯s sleeve with a fluid movement and knelt in front of Thamuz to free his feet. As she stood up to do the same with his hands, she was surprised to find the chains already broken.


    "How did you break them?" she asked, her eyes shining with astonishment.


    "I just used my strength," Thamuz replied with an enigmatic smile.


    "So, you are strong? Well, that must be why ''he'' brought you here specifically," said the woman, her smile taking on a macabre tint that sent a chill down Thamuz¡¯s spine.


    "''He''? Who is he?" Thamuz asked, his confusion mixing with a growing sense of unease.


    The women, as if responding to an invisible signal, burst into laughter that echoed unnaturally in the corridor. They began to spin around Thamuz in a ghostly dance, their movements so fluid they seemed to merge with the air itself.


    Thamuz, bewildered, tried to follow them with his eyes, but their forms blurred before him. For a moment, he had the impression that the castle walls were closing in on him, and the women¡¯s laughter turned into ancient whispers in a language he couldn¡¯t understand but somehow resonated deep within him.


    When the strange phenomenon ceased as abruptly as it had begun, Thamuz found himself alone in the corridor, surrounded only by the immobile guards. The echo of the laughter still resonated in his ears.


    "What was that?" Thamuz murmured to himself, his voice barely audible in the sudden silence that enveloped him.


    Suddenly, as if the castle itself responded to his thoughts, a massive door materialized before him. It was a massive structure, carved with intricate designs that seemed to move if he looked at them too long. Thamuz resisted the urge to touch it, a feeling of caution taking root in his chest.


    The guards, who until then had remained as still as statues, turned their heads in unison toward Thamuz. The movement, mechanical and unnatural, sent a chill down his spine. Their eyes, now visible under their helmets, shone with an unsettling light, as if they were mere windows to an unfathomable void.


    Thamuz watched them closely, his muscles instinctively tensing, prepared for any threat. But the guards remained still, their gazes fixed on him as if waiting for him to make a decision.


    The silence became almost tangible, broken only by the creak of Thamuz''s muscles as he breathed. And then, a voice emerged from behind the door, a sound that seemed to come not just from the other side but from the very bowels of the castle.


    "Enter..."


    The word resonated in the corridor with an otherworldly tone, making the very air vibrate. Thamuz felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but his determination did not waver.


    With a deliberately slow movement, he extended his hand toward the door¡¯s handle. The metal was cold to the touch, almost painfully icy. He turned the knob carefully, ready to face any danger that might lurk on the other side.


    The door opened with a creak that sounded like a lament. Thamuz took a step forward, his eyes scanning the interior''s darkness. And then, as if a veil lifted, the room was revealed before him.


    Thamuz stood frozen in the threshold, surprise freezing every muscle in his body. There, seated on a throne that seemed made of solidified shadows, was him. The man who had been at the center of his thoughts since this odyssey began.


    "At last, we meet face to face again..."


    It was Zarakel.

 Chapter 22: a painful and cold blow of reality

    ¡°Come on, get in, don¡¯t be afraid,¡± said Zarakel, his voice echoing with a false kindness as he raised his arm in a welcoming gesture.


    Thamuz stood still for a moment, fear and surprise wrestling within him. But seeing the man who had unleashed all this chaos, a small smile crept onto his face.


    ¡°I see why they brought me here,¡± Thamuz said, beginning to walk measured steps towards Zarakel.


    The throne on which the eternal king sat was a macabre work of art: built from the skeleton of what seemed to be a giant humanoid, its horns rose threateningly above Zarakel¡¯s head. At his feet, two small, deformed creatures licked his ulcer-covered feet in a repugnant gesture of submission.


    Thamuz approached cautiously, his eyes scanning every corner of the vast room for traps or hidden threats. But the place was shrouded in a deathly silence, as if time itself had stopped in this space.


    ¡°So, what do you want from me?¡± Thamuz asked, standing defiantly in front of Zarakel.


    Zarakel leaned back in his throne, his body moving like a mass of flesh barely contained by its skin. His eyes, pits of infinite darkness, examined every detail of Thamuz: his firm stance, the tension in his muscles, the determination etched into every line of his face.


    ¡°Relax, I¡¯m not going to harm you,¡± Zarakel replied, intertwining his fingers with unsettling calm. ¡°I just brought you here to ask you a very special question.¡±


    ¡°Are you serious?¡± Thamuz protested, anger tinging his voice. ¡°You went through all this trouble just to ask me something?¡±


    ¡°Obviously, I¡¯m the king of this entire realm,¡± Zarakel declared with a tone of cruel amusement. ¡°I could even bring your whole family here if I wanted to.¡±


    At the mention of his family, Thamuz¡¯s expression darkened dangerously. He raised his head, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white.


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk about my family!¡± Thamuz exclaimed, each word laden with barely contained threat. ¡°If you dare to harm them, I swear on my life that I will choke you to death.¡±


    Surprise shone in Zarakel¡¯s eyes at Thamuz¡¯s ferocity. It was precisely that untamed flame he had been seeking, the one that had led him to orchestrate this entire encounter.


    ¡°Fine, just calm down,¡± Zarakel said, shifting slightly in his throne. ¡°Now, I¡¯m going to ask you the question that I went through all this trouble to bring you here for.¡±


    But just as Zarakel was about to speak, a chilling sound filled the room. It was a wet, repugnant crackling, like bones breaking and flesh tearing. Both Thamuz and Zarakel turned their heads towards the source of the noise.


    In a dark corner of the room, barely visible in the shadows, stood a colossal figure. It was hunched over something it was manipulating with jerky, violent movements.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Thamuz asked, a mix of revulsion and curiosity in his voice.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s Gigantino,¡± Zarakel replied with disturbing casualness, settling back into his throne. ¡°I didn¡¯t know he was here, playing with his ¡®toy.¡¯¡±


    The term ¡°toy¡± resonated in the room with a sinister connotation, leaving Thamuz with a nauseous feeling and a terrible premonition. The atmosphere, already oppressive, seemed to grow even denser, laden with an almost palpable evil.


    ¡°What¡¯s your weakness?¡± Zarakel asked, suspicion in his voice.


    Thamuz slowly turned his head, staring intently into Zarakel¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°My weakness? I have no weakness,¡± Thamuz asserted, confidence in his voice.


    ¡°Of course you have one. Every living being in the universe has a weakness, whether small or large. It always will. But now I want to know yours. I want to know what is capable of killing you, what can make you fear,¡± Zarakel said, forming a sinister smile on his face.


    Thamuz felt the environment suddenly freeze. The creatures that had been licking Zarakel¡¯s feet stopped and slithered towards Thamuz¡¯s sides, disappearing into the darkened room.


    ¡°Why should I tell you? Do you plan to use it in my future shamonak battles? If so, I just want to tell you something,¡± Thamuz said, raising his fist. ¡°I¡¯ll make your son beg for mercy.¡±


    Zarakel¡¯s eyes widened at Thamuz¡¯s words. His smile was still present but had lightened slightly, showing how his eyes were also beginning to darken.


    ¡°Fine, if you want to act like this, then I¡¯ll have to give you some incentive to find out what your weakness is,¡± Zarakel said, snapping his fingers. ¡°Gigantino, dear son, show Thamuz your toy.¡±


    Gigantino heard his father¡¯s command and turned his body. In his hands, he held the battered body of Shandam. His head had been completely torn off, and his legs had met the same fate. His chest was exposed, ribs visible, showing his organs.


    ¡°I think I broke him, Father,¡± Gigantino said, saliva dripping from his mouth.


    Thamuz felt his world collapse upon seeing his friend¡¯s mangled body. Rage and pain intertwined inside him like the most toxic of poisons, clouding his judgment. His eyes, now bloodshot, locked onto Zarakel with an intensity that could have melted the entire room. Without a second thought, he lunged at him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tear your heart out with my own hands!¡± Thamuz roared, focusing all his strength into the palm of his hand.


    The air crackled with energy as Thamuz rushed towards his target. Zarakel, apparently defenseless in his throne, didn¡¯t move a muscle. But just as the blow was about to connect, an immense force struck Thamuz¡¯s chest. The sound of the impact resonated like thunder in the room, and the warrior¡¯s body was thrown backward, crashing into the wall with a chilling crack.


    Zarakel exhaled, a bead of cold sweat running down his temple. ¡°By the gods, son, you almost let me get touched,¡± he said, his voice betraying a hint of fear.


    ¡°Did I meet your expectations, Father?¡± Gigantino asked, his hand still emanating a bluish vapor from the impact.


    ¡°You exceeded all my expectations,¡± Zarakel replied, slowly rising from his throne, his eyes never leaving the battered figure of Thamuz.


    The fallen warrior struggled to breathe, his chest rising and falling erratically. He tried to get up, supporting himself on his trembling arms, but Gigantino showed no mercy. With a speed that defied his size, the giant lunged at Thamuz, his foot connecting with the warrior¡¯s face in an impact that shook the palace¡¯s foundations.


    ¡°Oh, what a delight! This toy is much more resilient,¡± Gigantino exclaimed, his laughter echoing off the stone walls as he bounced with excitement.


    Against all odds, Thamuz peeled himself off the wall, fragments of rock falling around him. He positioned himself in a defensive stance, his arms extended in front of him, trembling but determined.


    ¡°Damn opportunist,¡± Thamuz spat, blood mixing with his words. ¡°I thought we would settle this honorably in the shamonak arena.¡±


    Gigantino responded only with a sadistic grin, raising his hands in a mockery of Thamuz¡¯s stance. The air grew tense as both combatants sized each other up.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    In an instant, Gigantino launched into the attack. Thamuz, anticipating the move, prepared his palm strike. The two impacts collided in the air, creating a shockwave that made the windows tremble and extinguished the torches in the room.


    But the result was devastating for Thamuz. A nauseating crack preceded the warrior¡¯s agonized scream as he saw his own bone jutting out from the torn flesh of his arm.


    "Well, well," commented Zarakel from the shadows of his throne. "It seems that your legendary endurance was nothing more than a tavern tale."


    Gigantino''s laughter echoed like an infernal echo as his head slammed into Thamuz''s face. The warrior fell to the ground, his consciousness hanging by a thread.


    With superhuman effort, Thamuz tried to rise once more. But Gigantino, relentless, began to rain blows on the fallen man''s ribs. Each impact resounded with a chilling crack, mingling with Thamuz''s muffled gasps.


    "Come on, get up, I want to play more with you," said Gigantino, stopping his assault.


    Thamuz lay on the ground, his blood forming a dark pool on the cold stones as Gigantino''s sadistic laughter filled the room.


    "Lift him up, my son," ordered Zarakel, rising from his throne.


    Gigantino lifted Thamuz by one arm, and Zarakel walked towards them, positioning himself in front of Thamuz. He looked at Thamuz''s battered and severely damaged body and burst into a great laugh. A black tentacle emerged from his back, passing under Thamuz''s chin and forcing him to look up to meet Zarakel''s gaze. He opened his mouth and began to speak:


    "The son of Tawnylon, face to face with me. I could kill you right now or torture you in the most horrible ways imaginable, but the people want to see fights. They want to see you defeat rivals, have a grand battle, and I cannot deny them that right. The shamonak is one of the things I respect most in this life, but I need to be cautious. I need to know if you have that weakness that only a few fighters possess."


    Zarakel touched Gigantino''s back with a tentacle, and he slammed Thamuz to the ground. He positioned himself on top of Thamuz and put his hands around his neck, while Thamuz kicked and grabbed Gigantino''s arms, trying to escape the hold. Thamuz felt Gigantino''s weight pressing on his ribs, slowly breaking them. His neck began to open from the pressure, and his eyes betrayed his weakness.


    Zarakel watched Thamuz''s eyes and crouched down, seeing the uncontainable fear reflected in them.


    "Finally, finally I see what your great weakness is. Your weakness is your fear of death, being close to it. You fear its cold embrace, something that only weak people fear. A shamonak fighter delights in being so close to it; the burning flame within him overshadows the coldness with which death always operates. But you are a disgrace to that. Your eyes betray you: if you fear death, you will always fear the fight."


    Zarakel touched Gigantino''s back with a tentacle, and he stopped choking Thamuz, who seemed to have lost consciousness due to the lack of oxygen.


    Shandam, who had managed to restore much of his head thanks to his regenerative abilities, watched the entire confrontation with a mix of horror and desperation. He felt hopeless seeing his friend so easily defeated by his tormentor. He closed his eyes, accepting the fate that awaited him, as his heart beat with a somber rhythm.


    "Go to your quarters, my son, you''ve done enough today," ordered Zarakel, placing his hands behind his back, his voice resonating with authority.


    "But, father, I was just starting to have fun with him," protested Gigantino, stomping on the ground, causing the room to shake.


    "Don''t protest, son, unless you want me to punish you like the other times," said Zarakel, extending four gigantic tentacles from his back, which twisted threateningly in the air.


    Gigantino saw this and began to cry. He ran off, grabbing Shandam by the leg and dragging him as he ran towards his quarters.


    "You never let me do anything," Gigantino complained before leaving the room, his voice full of childish frustration.


    Now Zarakel was alone with Thamuz''s unconscious body. He placed a tentacle on Thamuz''s chest to check his pulse and looked with curiosity to see that he still had one. He lifted Thamuz by the leg and dragged him along, his imposing figure casting a long shadow on the ground.


    "Let''s take you to your sweet family," he said, starting to walk towards another room, a sinister smile appearing on his face.


    The afternoon had arrived, and the sun was slowly setting, bathing everything in an orange hue. Thamuz''s family sat outside at the patio table, sharing a meal in an attempt to maintain normalcy. Armesto and Yakrare were with them, while Narek and Berkam were also seated at the table, their faces marked by worry.


    "Have they found anything in the prison yet?" asked Tawnylon with a serious tone, his eyes fixed on the horizon.


    "Nothing. Apparently, they didn''t leave him there; they must have taken him somewhere else," replied Armesto, clasping his hands and frowning.


    "Where do you think they might have taken him?" asked Aolani, concern in her voice, her fingers nervously drumming on the table.


    "I don''t know, it''s been a while since he disappeared. Maybe he''s in the city, maybe not," replied Armesto, now with a tone of worry similar to Tawnylon''s, looking around as if expecting Thamuz to suddenly appear.


    "I shouldn''t have left him alone. I could have spoken to the guards and explained that we were defending ourselves against those criminals," said Narek, feeling guilt inside him, his voice laden with remorse.


    "You couldn''t have done anything. If you had stayed there, you would have been hurt. Besides, Thamuz will know how to escape from any place they lock him up," said Tawnylon, trying to ease the tension in the atmosphere, but with a shadow of doubt in his eyes.


    Suddenly, the sound of a carriage could be heard from outside. Everyone looked up upon hearing it, and Armesto was even more surprised when he saw it.


    "That''s one of the carriages Zarakel uses for special deliveries. I wonder what it''s doing here," explained Armesto, scratching his head and eyeing the approaching vehicle with suspicion.


    The carriage arrived, built from a sturdy metal with runes engraved at the corners glowing with an intense red, and the beast pulling it was much larger than usual, with protrusions coming out of its back. A man stepped out of the carriage; his figure was pale and gaunt, with cut and filed horns.


    "Hello, Armesto," said the man with a raspy voice.


    "Oh, hello, Danmak. Did you bring something for us?" asked Armesto, curiosity reflected in his eyes.


    "Yes, Zarakel told me to send this. I don''t know what it is, but I saw six soldiers straining to lift it, so I think it''s heavy," explained Danmak, walking towards the back of the carriage.


    Danmak opened the back door of the carriage and revealed a huge wooden box. He climbed onto the carriage and positioned himself behind the box, trying to push it out.


    "Tawnylon, please help Danmak," ordered Armesto, turning slightly to look at Tawnylon.


    Tawnylon stood up from the table and walked towards the carriage with firm steps. He grabbed the wooden box with surprising ease, lifting it and placing it on the ground as if it weighed nothing.


    Danmak descended from the carriage, wiping his hands on his pants, and surveyed the area with a mix of curiosity and concern. He noticed the tension in the air, which heightened his curiosity.


    "What''s going on, Armesto? I see that everyone is a bit sad," asked Danmak, his voice full of interest.


    "The son of a friend has been taken to jail for defending himself against some thugs. I''ve talked to several of my contacts to release him, but they say he''s not there. Now we don''t know where he is, and that worries us a lot," explained Armesto, with visible concern in his eyes.


    "What does his son look like?" asked Danmak, tilting his head.


    "He¡¯s tall, with large horns, his skin is as black as night, and he has a quite muscular build. His eyes are red with some black around them," described Armesto, his gaze fixed on Danmak. "Have you seen him around?"


    "I think so. I saw someone who looked very much like that enter Zarakel''s quarters, but I didn¡¯t see him come back out," replied Danmak, rubbing his chin with a thoughtful expression.


    "Zarakel''s quarters? This can''t be good," said Tawnylon, with growing concern in his voice.


    "Yes, but I have to go deliver other things. I sincerely wish you the best of luck finding your son," said Danmak, trying to offer words of encouragement to Tawnylon.


    Tawnylon thanked him, and Danmak climbed into his carriage. He cracked the whip over his beast, which let out a powerful roar before starting to move. Danmak waved goodbye as the carriage rolled away.


    "It can¡¯t be, he¡¯s with that bastard," said Aolani, covering her face with her hands in a gesture of despair.


    "Calm down, I don¡¯t think Zarakel would harm Thamuz. Besides, he¡¯s the main challenger in the tournament; hurting him would only tarnish his image," said Armesto, trying to calm the mood with reassuring words.


    The wooden box remained inert, its size and weight impressive. Discussions about Thamuz''s whereabouts continued, but a peculiar sound drew everyone¡¯s attention to the box.


    "Did you hear that?" asked Tawnylon, frowning.


    "Yes, I heard it," replied Armesto, looking increasingly concerned.


    Armesto walked slowly towards the box and leaned in to listen more closely. He positioned himself in front of the lock, which was slightly open, and pressed his ear against it.


    "It sounds like breathing," he said, his voice tense.


    Carefully, he placed his hands on the box and opened it slowly. When he saw what was inside, he opened the box suddenly, covering his mouth with his hand in shock. He looked at Tawnylon with wide eyes.


    "What is it?" asked Tawnylon, fear evident in his voice.


    Armesto was speechless, unable to describe what was inside the box. Tawnylon, concerned by his friend''s reaction, approached to see for himself. Armesto tried to stop him.


    "Don¡¯t look, please," protested Armesto, trying to block Tawnylon¡¯s path.


    "I have to see what¡¯s inside," said Tawnylon, with a determination that couldn¡¯t be ignored.


    Tawnylon pushed Armesto aside and approached the box. As he saw what was inside, his eyes filled with disbelief and horror. He knelt down, tears starting to stream down his cheeks.


    "Son¡­" Tawnylon whispered, his voice breaking.

 Chapter 23: Father, mother and son

    The lifeless body of Thamuz lay in the box. Tawnylon quickly knelt down and placed his palm on Thamuz¡¯s chest, trying to check his pulse.


    "His heart is still beating, but very faintly," he said, lifting his head with tears in his eyes.


    He stood up and carefully picked up Thamuz, trying not to hurt him more than he already was. He placed Thamuz in his arms and headed to the table where everyone was sitting. Aolani, seeing the state of her son, immediately stood up. She quickly walked over to where Tawnylon was and examined Thamuz, observing every wound he had. Inside, she wanted to scream and cry, but she knew she couldn''t do it because she didn''t want to tense the atmosphere or worry her husband.


    "By Azhamat, what have they done to you, son?" she asked, trying to find some answer in her mind.


    Yakrare and Berkam cleared the plates from the table, leaving it empty. Tawnylon approached the table and gently placed Thamuz on it. He observed his son''s body: the wounds, the broken arm, the sunken ribs, the marks on his neck showing he had been strangled with great force, and the imprint of a blow on his chest.


    A growing rage began to take hold of Tawnylon. He felt his heart start to beat rapidly and his muscles tense, sounding like creaking bones. He clenched his fists and opened his mouth, revealing fangs that had never been seen before. His eyes turned black, and his hair began to levitate. The ground beneath him cracked, causing a small earthquake.


    "I am going to kill Zarakel, I swear I will," Tawnylon said in a now deeper and more serious voice.


    He began to walk with steps that made the whole place tremble. The heat emanating from his body was palpable, radiating a visible red energy for everyone. Aolani, seeing this, immediately ran towards Tawnylon and stood in front of him, extending her arms in a desperate attempt to stop him.


    "No, you won¡¯t. You will stay here, and we will take care of Thamuz," protested Aolani, fierceness in her voice.


    "You didn¡¯t hear me, woman. I¡¯m going to kill that bastard. I will rip all the bones from his body," replied Tawnylon, taking a step that made even Aolani''s bones shake.


    Aolani did not back down, her gaze full of determination.


    "If you leave now, what will become of us? What will become of Thamuz?" she said, her voice breaking slightly. "He needs us more than ever. He needs us to be here, together."


    Tawnylon raised his hand and opened his palm wide as if he was prepared to strike Aolani. She, without backing down, looked at him fiercely.


    "Are you going to hit me? Are you going to make me end up like Thamuz too?" protested Aolani, determination in her voice.


    Tawnylon¡¯s arm began to tremble, and he saw how Aolani''s eyes filled with tears. Then he felt a strong grip on his waist. He looked back and saw Thamuz, who was hugging him tightly, clinging to him.


    "Don¡¯t¡­hit¡­mom¡­please," said Thamuz, gasping.


    Seeing this, Tawnylon began to relax little by little. He turned around and knelt to get a better look at Thamuz. He grabbed him by the shoulders and began to speak to him:


    "Come, let¡¯s go home. You will soak in a bandamenas water bath to recover," he said, hugging him carefully to avoid hurting him. "Armesto, get some barrels of bandamenas water!"


    Armesto heard the order and, along with Yakrare, headed to a small cabin on a hill. They brought several barrels and returned to where Tawnylon and Thamuz were.


    "Come, we have a large wooden tub to put Thamuz in," said Armesto, easily lifting four barrels under his arms.


    Yakrare grabbed two barrels and put them under his arms. Aolani and Tawnylon helped Thamuz walk, while Narek and Berkam also tried to help him.


    "Your friend is very heavy," said Berkam, holding Thamuz''s arm.


    "He weighed more than twenty kilos when he was a baby," said Aolani, trying to lighten the situation.


    They reached the place indicated by Armesto and found a large wooden tub. Tawnylon gently lifted Thamuz and sat him at the bottom of the tub. Armesto tried to uncork the barrels to pour the bandamenas water, but they were very tight.


    Seeing this, Tawnylon grabbed one of the barrels and, with great force, removed the top and poured its contents into the tub. He repeated the process with the other barrels until the tub was full, covering almost all of Thamuz''s body except for his head.


    "Son, I¡¯m going to immerse your whole head, leaving only your face out. I want you to stay like this for several hours," said Aolani, holding Thamuz''s head.


    "Yes¡­" Thamuz replied in a faint voice.


    Aolani, with delicate but firm hands, immersed Thamuz''s head until only his face was out of the bandamenas water.


    "Stay calm, son. This bandamenas bath will help you recover," Aolani whispered, gently stroking his forehead.


    Thamuz slowly opened his eyes, his blurred vision gradually focusing on the worried faces of his parents. The pain throbbed in every fiber of his being, but the presence of his loved ones provided an indescribable comfort. He closed his eyes again, allowing the healing water to begin its work, its magical properties flowing through his wounds.


    One by one, the visitors left the room. First Narek and Berkam, their steps heavy with concern. Then Yakrare, casting a final compassionate glance at the young warrior. Armesto lingered a little longer, making sure everything was in order before leaving with a tired sigh. Finally, only Tawnylon and Aolani remained, watching over their son with a mix of love and anxiety.


    "Who do you think could have done this to him?" Aolani asked, her voice barely a whisper as she watched Thamuz floating in the healing water.


    Tawnylon crossed his arms, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I don¡¯t think it was Zarakel directly. He¡¯s too weak and slow to beat Thamuz this way. He must have used someone extremely strong."


    Aolani nodded slowly, a memory forming in her mind. "Now that you mention it, it makes me think of his son. When he introduced him to us in the village, he was much bigger than you, and you¡¯re three meters tall. But he seemed¡­ childish, almost idiotic in his behavior."


    "Those who act childishly are often the most dangerous," Tawnylon reflected, his deep voice laden with concern. "They see everything as a game, considering themselves the players while treating others as disposable toys, without any value."


    "You¡¯re right," Aolani agreed, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "That Gigantino is someone we should fear and watch closely."


    Suddenly, Aolani felt strong arms around her waist. She turned slightly to find Tawnylon, his face a mask of remorse.


    "What¡¯s wrong, love?" she asked, confused by the sudden gesture.


    Tawnylon took a deep breath before speaking. "I¡¯m sorry for my violent behavior earlier. I felt the rage cloud my mind, my blood boiling with anger. I never meant to hurt you."


    Aolani listened to her husband''s words, her heart touched by the sincerity in his voice. She returned the embrace and, standing on tiptoe, gave him a slow, tender kiss on the lips before looking into his eyes.


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    "What you showed demonstrates how much you love our son, how much you¡¯re willing to sacrifice for him," she said tenderly. "But I couldn¡¯t let you go. We don¡¯t know what plans has Zarakel. Perhaps what he did to Thamuz was a trap to lure you to his castle and use some of his old tricks against you.


    They melted into a deeper embrace, sealing their bond with another kiss. Exhausted from the emotional stress of the situation, they sat in a corner of the room, near the jar where Thamuz was recovering. Gradually, fatigue overcame them, and they fell asleep, their bodies entwined in a gesture of mutual protection.


    Meanwhile, on a nearby hill, Narek and Berkam sat in silence, their eyes lost in the vast night sky. The stars shone with unusual intensity, as if the universe itself wanted to offer a bit of light in these dark times.


    "Do you think he will be okay?" Berkam finally asked, his voice barely audible.


    "I had never seen him hurt like that. It looks like a mountain fell on him," Narek replied, placing his arms behind his head as he looked at the sky. "But a bath in bandamenas water can help a lot with recovery."


    "Well, if they said Thamuz was in Zarakel''s castle before, don''t you think someone very strong did this to him? Maybe... maybe it was Gigantino," Berkam suggested, hugging his knees to his chest.


    Narek gave him a small glance and lay down on the grass. He let out a big sigh, closed his eyes, and began to speak:


    "Have I ever told you about my brother?"


    "Markat? Yes, you''ve talked about him. About how he was a shamonak fighter, a very good one," Berkam replied, lying down next to Narek.


    "Yes, they called him ''the walking mountain'' because no matter how many times you hit him, he wouldn''t fall. Regardless of the attack, he won several battles, making my father very proud with his victories."


    "You must have felt a bit jealous of that," Berkam commented, looking at Narek.


    "No, not really. My father knew my body wasn''t made for shamonak combat, so he kept me a bit away from that world. But he still took me to see some fights, especially my brother''s."


    "How sweet. I imagine you excited to see your brother fight," Berkam said, with a small smile.


    "I really adored my brother. Every time I saw him fight, it was like a god came down from the sky and took control of his body. But one fight in particular ended his life."


    "What happened?" Berkam asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.


    "Gigantino, in those times, had developed a curiosity for shamonak. Zarakel held private fights in his castle and showed them to Gigantino to develop a fanaticism for them. There''s no doubt it worked. Gigantino asked his father to enlist him as a shamonak fighter, which was granted. He destroyed all his opponents with sheer brute strength, like a beast rather than a rational being. That was until he fought my brother."


    Narek paused, his gaze lost in the stars as the memories of that fateful day flooded his mind. Berkam waited in silence, respecting his friend''s moment of reflection.


    "On the day of the fight between Markat and Gigantino, the arena was full," Narek continued, his voice barely a whisper. "Everyone wanted to see the ''king''s son'' face ''the walking mountain.'' My father and I were in the front row, proud and confident in Markat''s victory."


    Narek sat up, crossing his legs, his eyes now fixed on a distant point.


    "When Gigantino entered the arena, silence fell over the crowd. He was enormous, much more than we had imagined. Markat looked like a child next to him. But my brother showed no fear; he stood firm, ready for the fight."


    Berkam listened attentively, feeling the tension in Narek''s words.


    "The fight began, and at first, it seemed like Markat might have a chance. He dodged Gigantino''s blows with agility, taking advantage of every opening to counterattack. But every blow he landed... it was like hitting a mountain. Gigantino barely flinched."


    Narek closed his eyes, as if the memory was too painful to keep them open.


    "Then, Gigantino managed to catch Markat. He lifted him as if he weighed nothing and..." Narek paused, his voice breaking slightly. "What followed was a massacre. Gigantino wasn''t fighting; he was playing. He destroyed my brother limb by limb, laughing all the time like a child with a new toy."


    Berkam held his breath, horrified by the description.


    "When it was over, there was barely anything recognizable of Markat. Zarakel declared Gigantino the winner, as if it had been a normal fight. The crowd was in shock. My father... I had never seen him cry before that day, you can see him calm near Zarakel because of his job, but truly, he wishes to put his hands on Zarakel''s neck and strangle him with all his might."


    Narek opened his eyes, looking directly at Berkam.


    "Since then, Gigantino has been the undefeated shamonak champion. No one dares to challenge him. And now, Thamuz..."


    "Thamuz will have to face him," Berkam finished, understanding the gravity of the situation.


    Narek nodded slowly.


    "That''s why I''m so worried. Thamuz is strong, perhaps the strongest I''ve seen since Markat. But Gigantino... he''s a monster in human form. Not just because of his strength, but his cruelty. He enjoys the suffering of others."


    "Do you think Thamuz has any chance?" Berkam asked, his voice filled with concern.


    Narek was silent for a moment, carefully considering his response.


    "If anyone can defeat Gigantino, it''s Thamuz. He has something my brother didn''t have: a purpose beyond victory. He fights for something bigger than himself. That could make the difference."


    Suddenly, a terrifying screech echoed from the horizon. Narek stood up and watched as something was flying in the darkness. He strained his eyes and saw it was a winged, deformed creature carrying what seemed to be a letter in its twisted claws.


    "That''s one of Zarakel''s messenger birds, though it looks different than usual," Narek explained, crossing his arms as a shiver ran down his spine.


    The creature had arrived and seemed to be a complete aberration. Where there should have been eyes were only empty cavities pulsating with a sickly purple light. Its wings were fused with its flesh and covered in suction cups secreting a viscous, phosphorescent liquid. Its legs, covered in blackened scales, were full of scars forming intricate patterns, like arcane runes. It raised one of its limbs to deliver the letter to Narek.


    "Zarakel... read... letter," the creature gasped, trying to form coherent words with a mouth full of sharp fangs and a bifurcated tongue.


    "Thank you, you may go now," Narek said, receiving the letter with a trembling hand.


    The creature nodded slightly, emitting a guttural croak, and took flight again, disappearing into the night lit by three moons of different colors. Meanwhile, Narek glanced at the letter, noticing the envelope was sealed with black wax and a symbol he recognized.


    "It''s for my father. I wonder what it is," Narek said, showing it to Berkam.


    "Why don''t you open it?" Berkam asked, with notable curiosity about the letter and a glimmer of worry in his amber eyes.


    "My father doesn''t like us looking through his things, especially letters from Zarakel. Come, let''s deliver it to him," Narek said, extending his hand to Berkam.


    Berkam took his hand and intertwined his fingers with his. They descended the hill and headed towards the house, illuminated by several blue-flamed torches on the walls, providing an ethereal clarity against the darkness of the night.


    They arrived at the house and saw his father sitting at a giant dark wood table, carved with ancient symbols. He held a steaming cup in his hand, from which a sweet, intoxicating aroma emanated. He seemed lost in thought, as if he were looking at something beyond the walls of the room. Narek released Berkam''s hand and signaled her to stay in place. He approached his father and touched his shoulder, causing him to startle and look at his son with glassy eyes.


    "Oh, hello, son. I didn''t see you come in," Armesto said, lifting his cup slightly. His voice sounded distant, as if it came from far away. "What do you have there?"


    "Zarakel seems to have sent you a letter. I haven''t opened it, for precaution," Narek said, placing the envelope in front of his father.


    "It''s okay, son, I''ll read it later. By the way, doesn''t your friend have a home to return to? She''s been here for several hours and her parents must be very worried," Armesto commented, finishing with a sip from his cup.


    "You''re right, I''ll ask her," Narek replied, leaving his father at the table.


    Narek approached Berkam and asked her gently:


    "What about your family? Haven''t they sent someone for you?"


    "Oh, that''s right," Berkam replied, nervously playing with a lock of her hair. "My parents left the city some time ago. They mentioned something about selling some rare minerals they discovered on our lands. Because of that, our house is empty, but I''ve secured it well to prevent intruders."


    "I understand. Let me ask my father something," said Narek, turning toward Armesto.


    Narek turned and saw his father examining the letter with a serious expression. He raised his voice to ask:


    "Can Berkam stay tonight?"


    Armesto looked up, giving a smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. "Of course. Choose the best guest room and rest peacefully," he replied, taking a final sip of his drink.


    The young ones smiled and headed toward the rooms. Meanwhile, Armesto continued studying the missive. With trembling hands, he broke the seal with his nail and extracted the parchment. His eyes widened as he read its contents:


    "I suppose you have received the package I prepared especially for you. My son made sure to play with it enough, delighting in the way its bones broke and its screams drowned in the blood that flowed from its broken ribs. But there was something even more gratifying: its look. That innocent look that turned into pure terror was an indescribable pleasure for me. Watching death take the soul of that little bastard was something delirious, but I couldn¡¯t let it die so soon. I must make it suffer more.


    I must show Tawnylon that I still remember the humiliation he made me go through in the past when he forced me to hide in the darkness. But now, everything is different. Now I have the power and control to change everything. Therefore, as a show of my generosity, I have decided to resume the shamonak to death tournament. And I demand Thamuz''s presence in the arena. Tomorrow."

 Chapter 24: uprising

    The morning had arrived, and most of the inhabitants of the house were still deep in slumber, except for Tawnylon, Aolani, and Armesto. The three of them were seated around an ancient oak table, its surface marked by scars from past battles. In the center, as a grim omen, rested Zarakel''s letter, its edges slightly singed by the magical seal that had transported it.


    "So, Zarakel wants Thamuz to fight. No, it¡¯s impossible, not in the state he''s in," said Tawnylon, clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.


    "The order arrived last night. I¡¯ve already sent a message to one of my administrators, confirming that today the third match of the shamonak to death will take place," explained Armesto, intertwining his fingers with a gesture of resignation.


    Aolani, her voice tinged with desperation, suggested, "Tawnylon, let¡¯s flee the city. We can take Thamuz and escape in the carriage. He won¡¯t be able to fight in his current state; they¡¯ll kill him."


    "That¡¯s what I would want most, but Zarakel¡¯s tracking creatures have a supernatural sense of smell. They could detect our essence from miles away. We would be condemned to a life of hiding and constant fleeing," Tawnylon replied, casting a compassionate look at Aolani.


    Armesto, stroking his beard thoughtfully, interjected, "I could contact some of my allies to facilitate your escape from the city without being detected. However, as Tawnylon said, the real problem would arise when Zarakel notices and unleashes his infernal creatures."


    "Do we at least know who his opponent will be?" asked Tawnylon, resting his arms on the table with a weary gesture.


    "Yes, he goes by the name Bhaxmunt Exilias," Armesto responded, concern evident in his voice. "He¡¯s a relatively new shamonak fighter, with only seven years of experience in the matches. He¡¯s earned the nickname ¡®the cold touch of death¡¯ because his techniques inflict such intense pain that they say it¡¯s identical to the agony of dying."


    "How encouraging," Aolani murmured bitterly, sinking into her chair.


    Armesto, in an attempt to rekindle hope, suggested, "I could get more bandamenas water. It might speed up Thamuz¡¯s regeneration process."


    Tawnylon shook his head, his face shadowed by concern, "It¡¯s not viable. If we overload him with bandamenas water, his cells could grow at an uncontrollable rate. He could develop an extra arm where there were wounds before or, worse, cause tumors to sprout all over his body."


    "You¡¯re right, I had forgotten about that risk," Armesto admitted, feeling the last spark of hope extinguish within him.


    A heavy silence fell over the room, so dense it seemed like it could be cut with a knife. The gazes of those present wandered lost: Aolani, her eyes fixed on the vaulted ceiling, seemed to be waiting for some benevolent deity to descend and offer them a miraculous way out.; Armesto alternated his view between the shadows dancing in the corners of the room, seeking inspiration in the dimness; while Tawnylon, scrutinized the table¡¯s surface as if its grain could hold the solution to their problems


    Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the house, as if something heavy had fallen from a nearby room. Tawnylon quickly turned his head, locating the source of the sound in the room where Thamuz was recovering. He jumped to his feet, with Aolani and Armesto following closely, their concern visible on their faces.


    Tawnylon cautiously opened the door, trying to discern the cause of the noise. As he fully opened it, the scene that unfolded before his eyes made his heart skip a beat: Thamuz, still weak and trembling, was precariously leaning against the wooden tub, struggling to stand up.


    Without a second thought, Aolani rushed to her son, placing one of his arms over her shoulders to support him. Tawnylon, reacting instinctively, did the same on the other side. Carefully, they began to walk, leaving the room with Armesto closely following, his face a mask of worry and amazement.


    They reached the table where they had been sitting moments before, and gently, they helped Thamuz sit in one of the chairs. Tawnylon watched in awe as his son had healed much of his injuries. The right arm, once fractured, now seemed to have regained its strength and mobility. The sunken ribs had returned to their natural position, and the bruises that had once covered his body had almost completely disappeared, leaving only a faint greenish tint on his skin.


    "How are you feeling, son?" Aolani asked, her voice filled with tenderness and maternal concern.


    "I¡¯m¡­ okay," Thamuz panted, each word seeming to cost him a great effort.


    Tawnylon, noticing his son¡¯s exhaustion, turned to Armesto, "The bandamenas water has drained much of his energy. Armesto, please bring something for Thamuz to eat. He needs to regain his strength."


    Armesto nodded and quickly headed to the kitchen, while Aolani carefully examined every area of Thamuz¡¯s body that had been wounded before.


    "Wow, you¡¯ve recovered at an astonishing rate," Aolani commented, gently caressing her son¡¯s face.


    "I feel cold, Mother," Thamuz murmured, his voice barely a trembling whisper.


    "It must be because you¡¯re still soaked with bandamenas water," Aolani explained softly. "But we can¡¯t dry you off just yet. The water still needs to keep working on your healing."


    At that moment, Armesto returned from the kitchen with a tray of food: freshly baked bread, fresh cheese, and a jug of a steaming liquid that emitted an scent of medicinal herbs.


    "I¡¯ve brought something to eat and a special infusion," Armesto said, placing the tray in front of Thamuz. "The drink will help balance the effects of the bandamenas water and give you energy."


    Thamuz extended a trembling hand toward the jug, but Aolani got there first, taking it herself to help her son drink. As Thamuz slowly sipped the hot liquid, Tawnylon couldn¡¯t help but notice how the color gradually returned to his son¡¯s cheeks.


    "What did they do to you, son?" Aolani asked, sitting in front of Thamuz, with maternal concern reflected in her eyes.


    Thamuz placed the drink on the table, slowly intertwining his hands, and lowered his gaze to meet his mother¡¯s eyes.


    "I was defending Narek from some thugs," he began to recount, "until some guards locked me in a carriage with the gang leader. I think the leader and I ended on good terms, but instead of going to jail, they took me to Zarakel¡¯s castle. It all seemed too strange, but in reality, they only brought me to discover my weakness."


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    "Your weakness?" Tawnylon interjected, trying to infuse some encouragement into his voice. "I don¡¯t think you have any. You are as strong as a mountain, and your will could be compared to that of a star."


    Thamuz turned his head to look directly into his father¡¯s eyes. Tawnylon saw the fear reflected in his son¡¯s pupils, and his heart ached when he saw a solitary tear slide down Thamuz¡¯s cheek.


    "My weakness," Thamuz continued, his voice cracking, "is that I¡¯m afraid of death. Zarakel tricked me and made me fight Gigantino. He defeated me so easily, he humiliated me, he destroyed me. I felt life slipping away from my body, I felt death close to me, embracing me with its cold touch."


    Hearing these words, Tawnylon and Aolani exchanged a glance full of pain and understanding. Without hesitation, they moved closer to Thamuz and enveloped him in a strong embrace, which Thamuz returned with equal intensity.


    "It''s okay, son," Aolani said, stroking Thamuz''s hair. "It''s normal to feel fear about this. None of us are immortal."


    "Even I feel afraid of death sometimes," Tawnylon admitted. "But I''m more afraid of losing someone I love. I was so scared when I saw you in that state, like the whole world was collapsing on my shoulders."


    Thamuz clung to his parents, his body trembling as he released the emotions he had been holding back. Tawnylon and Aolani held him firmly, offering all the support and love that a father and mother can give.


    The embrace slowly unraveled, revealing a small smile on Thamuz''s face. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand battles.


    "I heard your conversation when I came out of the tub," he said, his eyes scanning his parents'' faces. "Do I really have to fight in another battle?"


    A tense silence settled in the room. Tawnylon and Aolani exchanged worried glances before Tawnylon responded:


    "Yes, son. It''s a direct order from Zarakel." He paused, carefully choosing his next words. "We¡¯ve considered escaping, but that would mean living in constant pursuit. Even so, it''s a price we''re willing to pay for your safety."


    Thamuz absorbed these words, his gaze lost in some distant point. Suddenly, he clenched his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white. When he looked up, his eyes had changed dramatically: the whites had turned ebony black, with red veins dancing like flames.


    "I¡¯m going to fight," he declared, his voice deep and resonant, as if it came from the depths of the earth. "Even if I¡¯m hurt, I¡¯ll do it. For you, for me, and to show that bastard I¡¯m stronger than he thinks."


    Tawnylon couldn¡¯t help but feel a mix of pride and fear at his son¡¯s determination. As a father, he wanted to protect him at all costs, but as a veteran of the shamonak, he recognized the warrior''s fire burning within Thamuz.


    Aolani, on the other hand, stood up slowly. A shadow passed over her eyes, momentarily darkening her gaze. When she spoke, her voice held a tone that Thamuz had never heard before:


    "Come with me, son. Let¡¯s go to your room."


    Tawnylon, recognizing the change in his wife, looked at Thamuz with a nervous smile.


    "It¡¯s better if you go with your mother," he advised, his voice betraying a mix of anticipation and concern.


    With effort, Thamuz stood up, following his mother as they left Armesto and Tawnylon in the room. They climbed the stairs in silence, the only sound being the occasional creak of the wood under their feet.


    Upon entering Thamuz''s room, Aolani closed the door behind them. The room showed signs of neglect: a thin layer of dust covered the furniture, and the air had a stale smell.


    "Lie down, son," Aolani instructed, pointing to the bed with a gesture that brooked no argument.


    As Thamuz complied, he noticed something unusual in his mother¡¯s behavior. Her movements, usually smooth and fluid, now seemed more precise, almost calculated. Her eyes gleamed with an intensity that Thamuz had only seen in the most seasoned warriors.


    "Mother, what...?" he began to ask, but Aolani interrupted him with a gesture that instantly silenced him.


    Thamuz moved towards the bed, each step accompanied by small grunts of pain, evidence that his wounds had not yet fully healed. He lay down carefully, watching his mother closely as she approached.


    Aolani dragged a chair from behind a table in the room. She placed it next to Thamuz''s bed and sat down, resting her arms on her knees. Her long hair fell like a curtain, partially obscuring her face.


    "What are you going to do, mother?" Thamuz asked, the confusion evident in his voice.


    Without answering, Aolani raised her hands. Suddenly, a phosphorescent blue light emanated from them, enveloping Thamuz''s body in a soft glow.


    Thamuz¡¯s eyes widened in awe at the sight. He felt almost instant relief spread through his body, as if the pain was dissipating under the touch of that mysterious light.


    "What is that light?" he asked again, his voice tinged with wonder.


    Aolani, with a slight smile on her face, replied, "It¡¯s an ancient skill of our family. It¡¯s said to be the light of azhamat, capable of giving life, healing wounds, and curing ailments. Your grandmother taught me this skill when I was just a young girl."


    "I have a grandmother?" Thamuz was surprised. "I only knew that my grandfather was a king."


    Aolani sighed, her smile turning bittersweet. "Yes. Do you remember the woman who came with Zarakel, the one who hit several villagers on the head? Well, that¡¯s your grandmother, Tyranta. She¡¯s still the same as ever."


    "What do you mean?" Thamuz asked, intrigued by his mother¡¯s tone.


    Aolani closed her palms, the blue glow gradually fading. Drops of sweat beaded on her forehead, and her breathing had become heavier. She lifted her head to look directly at Thamuz, her eyes reflecting a mix of exhaustion and old pain.


    "Your grandmother, Tyranta, was really someone detestable even before she was with Zarakel," she began, her voice filled with repressed emotions. "She was cruel to the castle workers, beating and humiliating them without them being able to defend themselves. She was even unfaithful to my father, King Khumulak."


    "Someone truly wicked," Thamuz added, his voice barely a whisper.


    "Yes," Aolani nodded, her eyes reflecting old wounds. "But the good thing is that I haven¡¯t seen her in a long time, not since I escaped with your father. The last I heard is that she married Zarakel."


    Aolani reopened her hands, the blue light emanating from them like a soft glow. She passed her palms around Thamuz''s body with an almost reverential gentleness, as if performing an ancient mystical ritual.


    Thamuz watched his mother intently, noticing how the sweat began to bead on her forehead and her breathing became increasingly labored.


    "What¡¯s wrong, mother?" he asked, the concern evident in his voice.


    Aolani closed her hands, the blue glow fading. She leaned back in the chair, visibly exhausted.


    "Using this technique requires a lot of training," she explained between gasps. "Something I neglected when I escaped with your father. I¡¯m very basic in using it, though at least I was able to heal some of your father¡¯s wounds when he went hunting."


    "I see," murmured Thamuz, thoughtful. "Do you think you could teach me this technique? It might be useful in the future."


    Aolani shook her head, a sad smile on her lips.


    "I can¡¯t, son. It¡¯s something that¡¯s passed down from generation to generation to the royal women. It¡¯s just something that appears in our lineage."


    "That¡¯s a shame," sighed Thamuz, turning in bed. "I would have liked to learn it."


    "Well, I used all the strength I had left to relieve you," Aolani said, changing the subject. "Do you feel much better?"


    "Much better," Thamuz confirmed. "Now I can move more easily."


    "I¡¯m glad to hear that," Aolani smiled, standing up with effort. "The fight will be in eight hours. I want you to rest for six hours to regain your strength."


    Aolani headed for the door, but Thamuz''s voice stopped her.


    "Wait."


    "What is it, son?" she asked, turning around.


    "Could you give me a kiss on the forehead before you go?" Thamuz asked, his voice filled with a childlike tenderness that contrasted with his warrior appearance.


    A warm smile lit up Aolani''s face. She approached the bed and leaned over her son, planting a soft kiss on his forehead.


    "Rest well, my little champion," she whispered with motherly love.


    "Thank you, mother," Thamuz replied, his eyes already closing from exhaustion.

 Chapter 25: third combat of shamonak to death

    In a dimly lit room, where several cells housed multiple prisoners, a tall and muscular figure sat in the center. The faint sunlight filtering through an opening in the wall barely illuminated his silhouette, creating a dramatic contrast between light and shadow.


    It was Thamuz who sat there, still as a statue, his fists clenched tightly and his gaze fixed on the stone floor. The silence that surrounded him seemed as heavy as the chains imprisoning the other inmates.


    "Hey! Is something bothering you?" asked a gruff voice from one of the cells, breaking the oppressive silence.


    "I''m just thinking," Thamuz replied, his deep voice reverberating off the stone walls.


    "Well, it looks like something else happened to you," the voice insisted. "You''ve got huge bruises all over your body. Did you fight some kind of creature?"


    Intrigued by his interlocutor''s persistence, Thamuz turned his head slightly. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the figure speaking to him: an extremely thin man, whose body was covered in scars and who was missing an arm.


    "Wow, what happened to you?" Thamuz asked, his curiosity momentarily outweighing his own concerns.


    "Oh, this?" the man responded with a bitter laugh. "I used to be a shamonak fighter like you, strong and young, full of energy and determination. But I guess life takes strange turns sometimes."


    The prisoner paused, as if gathering strength to continue.


    "During a war started by that fool Zarakel, he chose me as his representative fighter for a shamonak match that was supposed to end the conflict. My opponent was too strong; I could hardly hurt him. I lost, and when I returned to the kingdom, they captured me, tortured me, and mutilated my arm, leaving me with all these scars."


    Thamuz nodded slowly, processing the story.


    "I see. You gave it your all, and yet they didn''t appreciate your effort," he commented, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh.


    "Yeah, it''s something that happens quite often," the man responded. "It''s a lifestyle that can either destroy you or turn you into a legend."


    A silence settled between them, heavy with mutual understanding that only those who had experienced the brutality of the arena could share.


    "By the way, what''s your name?" Thamuz finally asked.


    "My name is Fhogar," the prisoner replied.


    "Nice to meet you, Fhogar. My name is Thamuz," he said, inclining his head slightly in respect.


    Fhogar observed Thamuz with renewed interest, his eyes tracing the impressive musculature of the young fighter.


    "You look like a very strong guy. How old are you?" he asked, curiosity evident in his voice.


    "I''m six years old," Thamuz replied naturally.


    "Six years old!" Fhogar exclaimed, the surprise making him sit up abruptly in his cell. "Six years of fighting in shamonak matches, you mean."


    Thamuz shook his head, a sad smile curving his lips.


    "No, Fhogar. I''m six years old."


    The silence that followed this revelation was deafening. Fhogar looked at Thamuz in astonishment, suddenly understanding the true nature of Zarakel''s cruelty and the system they both had served.


    "By all the gods," Fhogar murmured. "You''re just a child."


    Thamuz nodded, his gaze returning to the floor.


    "Do you know where the woman who always paints my body is? I''ve been waiting for a long time, and she still hasn''t appeared. I think her name was Gharta," Thamuz asked, his voice tinged with impatience.


    "I think she''s on her way. I hear footsteps coming from outside," Fhogar replied, pointing with a trembling finger toward the door behind them.


    Thamuz turned his head slightly and watched as the door creaked open, revealing Gharta. The woman walked toward him with a jar filled with a colorful liquid, resembling the orange of a sunset.


    But Thamuz noticed something strange about her. She walked as if she had injured her foot, her back slightly hunched, and she held the jar with only one hand, while the other was hidden behind her clothes. A chill ran down his spine, sensing that something was wrong.


    Thamuz waited for Gharta to reach him, and when she stood before him, he flashed a broad smile, concealing his unease.


    "Long time no see, Gharta," Thamuz said, discreetly studying the woman''s face.


    "I feel the same, young Thamuz. How have the days been during the ghurkha?" she asked, her eyes shining with unusual intensity.


    "Too dark, but I got plenty of rest after the fight with Khabixan. He really exhausted me with all the attacks he threw at me," Thamuz responded, with a small laugh that didn''t reach his eyes.


    "I can see that," Gharta said, but she noticed something about Thamuz: the various bruises still present on his body, like a map of past battles. "What happened to you?"


    Thamuz detected the concern in Gharta''s tone and looked at himself, giving a quick glance at all the bruises and wounds that had yet to heal.


    "I had a little fight with Zarakel''s son," Thamuz whispered in Gharta''s ear playfully. "I almost beat him, but I tripped on a rock and hit my head."


    "Well, if what you''re saying is true, then you''ve got a lot of courage, kid," Gharta expressed, laughing a bit and placing the jar on her lap, then dipping her fingers into the liquid. "Most fighters would tremble in front of someone as big as Gigantino."


    "What will the paintings be about this time?" Thamuz asked, curiosity in his voice and a glint of anticipation in his eyes.


    "These paintings will represent the fear that every shamonak fighter must face if they want to become a legend," Gharta explained, starting to touch Thamuz''s body with the fresh paint on her fingers. "The fear of death, a weakness that cannot have space in the heart of the strongest. If death is present, they will embrace it with the most intense heat that could be emitted."


    The shapes Gharta traced on Thamuz''s body were unusual and mystical. On his chest, she drew a triangle with two dots that simulated eyes and a large line above, resembling the sky.


    "This symbolizes the connection between the warrior and the god to whom they give their strength, whether it''s Azhamat or one from a different religion."


    On Thamuz''s back, she formed a large line that framed his entire spine, drawing horizontal lines over it.


    "This represents the strength and resilience necessary for the challenges that lie ahead."


    She finished by painting Thamuz''s face, drawing horizontal lines from his forehead to his cheeks, passing over his eyes.


    "This is a war mask that will hide your weakest emotions; you won''t feel fear or sadness, only the heat of battle running through your veins."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "You''re done," said Gharta, wiping her paint-covered fingers on her clothes. Her hidden hand still intrigued Thamuz, but he decided not to ask.


    "Thank you, Gharta," Thamuz said, rising from his chair.


    The entire room began to shake with the roars of the crowd, excited by the new fight that was about to happen. Thamuz heard the howls of glory and excitement that started to fill the air, like a siren''s song calling him to the arena.


    "They''re ready for you. Just listen to how they call for your fight," said Fhogar, leaning weakly on the metal bars, his voice filled with emotion.


    "Death, something a Shamonak fighter cannot fear. I must embrace it with strength and joy," said Thamuz, clenching his fists, the paint glowing on his skin like an inner fire. "Give me strength, parents."


    The doors of the dark room opened with a deafening screech, revealing a gigantic ramp in front of Thamuz. The young warrior observed it cautiously and, with slow but steady steps, began to ascend. Each step echoed in his ears, marking the rhythm of his racing heart.


    When he reached the top, Thamuz found himself in the much-acclaimed combat arena. The smell of blood and sweat filled his nostrils, reminding him of past battles. He crossed his arms, painted with mystical symbols, and let out a deep sigh, allowing the energy of the place to surround him.


    The voices supporting him resonated in his mind like an ancestral chant. They shouted his name, accompanied by songs in an ancient language Thamuz did not understand but that made every fiber of his being vibrate. The crowd was a sea of expectant faces, hungry for violence and glory.


    Turning his head, Thamuz saw his family seated in their usual spots. Tawnylon and Aolani looked at him with a mixture of pride and concern, their eyes shining with unshed tears. Narek, on the other hand, was at the edge of his seat, eager to see his friend in action. Armesto and Yakrare completed the family scene, their stoic faces hiding the storm of emotions they felt.


    Suddenly, a deafening roar shook the arena. Thamuz turned his gaze forward, where gigantic doors were slowly opening, revealing a dark room from which a sinister and palpable energy emanated. The air grew dense, and Thamuz felt a drop of cold sweat run down his painted back.


    From the shadows emerged an imposing figure, almost as tall as Thamuz. His opponent advanced with confident steps, revealing his supernatural appearance. Two considerable horns crowned his head, marked by scars from past battles. His skin was ash-gray, and his body seemed sculpted by the gods themselves, each muscle defined as if it were a living work of art.


    The warrior''s abundant white hair contrasted with his burning orange eyes. On his cheeks, linear marks resembling eternal tears completed his intimidating appearance. He walked with a stride that oscillated between comical and terrifying, moving his arms as if they were rubber, in a strange pre-fight ritual.


    The two fighters met face to face in the center of the arena. Thamuz, with his slight height advantage, looked down at his opponent, who returned his gaze with a defiant and mocking smile.


    "Wow, you look worse up close than from a distance," said the opponent, his voice raspy and dripping with sarcasm.


    Thamuz didn¡¯t respond verbally, he only let out a low growl from deep within his throat, his eyes locked on his adversary¡¯s. The tension between them was palpable, like an invisible thread about to snap.


    Suddenly, the attention of both warriors was drawn to the center of the arena, where a circle of fire opened out of nowhere. The flames danced hypnotically, and from them emerged the presenter, an enigmatic and feared figure.


    The presenter wore a red robe, making him appear like a giant living bloodstain. His face remained hidden under the hood, adding an air of mystery and fear to his presence. In his hand, he held an ancient scroll, which he unrolled with a fluid motion.


    Silence fell over the arena like a heavy blanket. Even the crowd¡¯s roars died down, waiting for the words that would determine the fighters'' fates. The presenter raised his voice, which resonated with supernatural authority:


    "In this third sacred match of the Shamonak to-the-death tournament, two fierce warriors face off in a battle that will test the two victories that the combatant Thamuz has earned. But now he faces someone well-known in these arenas, Bhaxmunt Exilias, who holds the title of the Cold Touch of Death. Let the fight begin, and may the best fighter be victorious!"


    With these words, the fire extinguished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving Thamuz and his opponent alone in the center of the arena. The crowd roared with renewed energy, and the air filled with anticipation.


    Bhaxmunt stepped back a bit while Thamuz did the same, their eyes fixed on each other''s every movement. The shouts and chants of the crowd began to fade as they saw the two opponents doing nothing for a moment, the tension growing with each second.


    "Are they having a staring contest!" some impatient spectators shouted.


    "Start fighting already, I have to get home to cook!" others yelled.


    Bhaxmunt turned his head to look at the crowd and gave a wide grin, his teeth shining under the arena lights.


    "Just listen to them, they want a fight," Bhaxmunt said, directing his words toward Thamuz. "When I¡¯m actually going to give them a massacre. You¡¯ll be begging me to stop."


    Thamuz, undeterred, crouched slightly and extended his arms closer to his body. He looked at Bhaxmunt with slightly lost eyes, as if in a trance, and suddenly lunged at him.


    Bhaxmunt, with cat-like reflexes, stepped aside, dodging Thamuz¡¯s charge. He made no counterattack, watching as Thamuz stopped his charge with precision.


    "You¡¯ve got good reflexes," said Thamuz, turning his back on Bhaxmunt, his voice calm despite the failed attack.


    "If you keep charging like that, like in your last fight, you¡¯re risking me landing a killing blow," Bhaxmunt replied, with a hint of annoyance in his voice, as if disappointed by Thamuz¡¯s tactic.


    Thamuz heard this and changed his fighting stance. Now, he wasn¡¯t standing tall but with a straight back and outstretched arms, palms open as if to grasp the air itself. It was a stance that mixed defense and offense, ready to respond to any movement.


    Bhaxmunt saw this and chuckled a bit, taking up a low fighting stance, similar to the one Thamuz used to use.


    "Be careful, I¡¯m going all out," Bhaxmunt warned, a predatory smile on his face.


    In an instant, Bhaxmunt lunged at Thamuz. The young warrior brought his hands down forcefully, trying to strike Bhaxmunt during his charge, but his opponent was too agile. Bhaxmunt dodged the blow and grabbed Thamuz by the waist as he struck the ground, missing his attack.


    With surprising speed, Bhaxmunt shifted his position and got behind Thamuz. He wrapped his arms tightly around Thamuz¡¯s waist and, with a roar, began leaning back with great force, executing a suplex that made the arena shake. The impact echoed throughout the place, and the crowd gasped in unison.


    Thamuz let out a faint groan of pain, the air knocked out of his lungs. But Bhaxmunt didn¡¯t give him time to recover. He quickly stood up and stomped on Thamuz¡¯s face before retreating, watching as his attack had taken effect.


    Thamuz lay motionless on the ground for a moment that seemed eternal. Then, slowly, he raised a hand to his face and began to rise. Bhaxmunt, seeing an opportunity, charged again and kicked him.


    But to everyone''s surprise, Thamuz barely flinched at the impact. He stood up slowly, his back turned, and then rotated his body to face Bhaxmunt. His eyes burned with a contained fury, and a trickle of blood flowed from his nose.


    "You¡¯ve got strong punches," said Thamuz, grabbing his nose and cracking it back into place, the sound making some spectators shudder. "But you¡¯ll need more than that to knock me out."


    Bhaxmunt heard Thamuz''s words, and a cold drop of sweat ran down his forehead. He smiled again, but this time it seemed more nervous, his initial confidence starting to fade.


    "Well, they¡¯re right about you," Bhaxmunt admitted, opening his palms in a gesture that mixed respect and caution. "You¡¯re a freak of nature."


    Thamuz responded with a slight growl, his eyes fixed on Bhaxmunt. Suddenly, he moved with superhuman speed, making it seem like he had disappeared. Bhaxmunt blinked, confused, his gaze frantically scanning the arena, unable to locate his opponent.


    "Below you!" someone from the crowd shouted, their voice mingling with the gasps of astonishment from the spectators.


    Bhaxmunt looked down just in time to see Thamuz crouched in front of him, his eyes glowing with fierce intensity. He tried to back away, but it was too late. Thamuz, with lethal precision, delivered an open palm strike to Bhaxmunt¡¯s chin. The impact echoed throughout the arena, and Bhaxmunt was sent flying, his body arcing through the air before crashing down several meters away.


    Thamuz slowly stood up, his movements deliberate and menacing. He began to stretch his arms, making them crack with a sound that chilled the blood of many spectators. He approached Bhaxmunt, who lay motionless on the ground, seemingly knocked out.


    "Where¡¯s that smile you always wore on your face?" Thamuz asked, his voice dripping with disdain. "I thought you were going to massacre me, make me beg for mercy. Now I see you on the ground, gasping for the air your brain was deprived of."


    Thamuz stood in front of Bhaxmunt, raising his foot with the intention of stomping on his stomach and finishing the fight. He brought his foot down with great force, certain of his victory.


    But something went terribly wrong. Instead of the expected impact, Thamuz felt a sharp, piercing pain in his foot, so intense that his leg instantly went numb. He collapsed to the ground, clutching the wounded area and holding back a scream of pain.


    Horrified, Thamuz looked at his leg. His tendon had been punctured, leaving two deep holes that bled profusely. The realization hit him like a cold wave: Bhaxmunt was not as defeated as he had seemed.


    Bhaxmunt still lay on the ground, but something had changed. Vapor began to emanate from his body, creating a sinister mist around him. With a fluid, unnatural movement, he kicked his legs and planted his feet on the ground, rising to his feet using only the strength of his back in a display of supernatural agility.


    Once standing, Bhaxmunt remained in an upright position, his body tense like a predator ready to strike. He slowly turned his head until his eyes, now glowing with a cold, merciless light, locked onto Thamuz.


    He raised his arms and curled his hands, except for his index and middle fingers, holding them in front of Thamuz like deadly weapons. When he spoke, his voice was low and loaded with a menace that froze the air in the arena:


    "Ah, yes, I was going to massacre you. It was going to be quick and bold, the way I¡¯d kill you," Bhaxmunt said, each word dripping with venom. "But your arrogance and your complete disregard made me realize something: I have to destroy you. I have to shatter the dreams you have, the motivation that keeps you fighting."


    Bhaxmunt took a step toward Thamuz, the vapor around his body intensifying, creating a spectral and terrifying image.


    "That¡¯s why I won¡¯t fight you with just Shamonak anymore," he continued, his eyes now glowing with a supernatural light. "I¡¯ll fight with a style that was created to hunt Shamonak fighters: the Nilux."

 Chapter 26: third combat of shamonak to death (part two)

    From the stadium stands, Thamuz¡¯s family watched with growing concern as the combat took an unexpected turn.


    ¡°That stance, that combat stance, I remember it very well,¡± said Tawnylon, his voice filled with astonishment. His eyes, usually calm, now reflected a rare unease.


    Armesto, seated next to him, crossed his arms and furrowed his brow, his expression a mask of worry. ¡°It seems to be the nilux, though I thought it had been extinct since the war of the seven bleeding moons,¡± he remarked, his voice low but tense.


    ¡°I thought so too,¡± Tawnylon responded, mimicking Armesto¡¯s posture. ¡°But it seems that when Zarakel wants to find something, he really does stop at nothing. His determination has always been... unsettling.¡±


    Narek, seated next to his father, listened to the conversation with growing curiosity and concern. His eyes darted between the fight in the arena and the tense faces of the adults. Finally, unable to contain his curiosity, he asked:


    ¡°What combat style are you talking about?¡± His voice trembled slightly, reflecting the anxiety he felt at seeing his friend in alot of trouble.


    Armesto slowly turned his head to look at his son. His eyes, usually hard, softened at the sight of the worry on Narek''s face. He took a deep breath before answering:


    ¡°The shamonak has always been a prosperous combat style in our civilization,¡± he began, his voice taking on a didactic tone. ¡°But it was only meant for people born with strong, well-adapted bodies. So, those who were considered weak devised their own combat styles. Many failed and were completely dominated by the shamonak, but one style in particular emerged: the nilux.¡±


    ¡°The nilux?¡± Narek repeated, confusion clear in his voice. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of that combat style.¡±


    Tawnylon intervened, his gaze fixed on the arena as he spoke: ¡°The nilux focused on training the most vulnerable parts of the body: the hands and feet, primarily the fingers,¡± he explained, raising his own hand to illustrate. ¡°The few times I¡¯ve seen the nilux in action, it showed its true strength. The power and precision of its attacks were strong enough to penetrate the muscle of an experienced shamonak fighter. That¡¯s why it earned a reputation for hunting down fighters of our style.¡±


    A heavy silence fell over the group as they processed this information. Narek, wide-eyed, looked back at the arena where his friend was fighting.


    ¡°And now Thamuz is facing what might be his natural predator,¡± Narek said, his voice barely a whisper, filled with dread.


    ¡°Yes,¡± confirmed Tawnylon, his voice momentarily muted. But then, as if a spark ignited within him, he added with renewed strength, ¡°But Thamuz has taken worse hits in his life. My son is stronger than any of us can imagine.¡±


    Suddenly, Tawnylon rose from his seat, his imposing figure drawing the attention of the nearby spectators. He raised his fist into the air, his voice resonating throughout the arena:


    ¡°Come on, son, defeat that bastard!¡± he shouted with all the strength of his lungs, his cry filled with pride and defiance.


    In the arena, Thamuz remained on the ground, his gaze fixed on the blood flowing from the gaps left by Bhaxmunt¡¯s attack. Pain pulsed in his foot, a constant reminder of his opponent¡¯s lethality.


    Bhaxmunt, with a sardonic smile, raised his index and middle fingers in a mocking gesture. ¡°Come on, get up. You won¡¯t make it that fun like this,¡± he said, his voice dripping with barely contained sadism.


    Without taking his eyes off his adversary, Thamuz grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground. With deliberate movements, he mixed it with his own blood and applied it to the wound, pressing hard to form an improvised bandage. The pain was intense, but his face remained impassive.


    Slowly, Thamuz stood up, limping slightly. He raised his arms and lowered his upper body, adopting a posture that suggested another charge. However, this time it was Bhaxmunt who took the initiative.


    With superhuman speed, Bhaxmunt lunged at Thamuz. The young warrior tried to counter with an open-palm strike, but Bhaxmunt, moving with a supernatural agility, ducked at the last moment. His fingers, sharp as daggers, pierced through Thamuz¡¯s ribs with terrifying precision.


    A sharp pain, more intense than anything Thamuz had ever experienced, exploded in his side. Instinctively, he threw a downward punch, like a hammer seeking to crush his enemy. But Bhaxmunt was no longer there, having leaped back with supernatural grace.


    ¡°How does it feel?¡± Bhaxmunt asked, his voice brimming with perverse pleasure. ¡°It¡¯s like being pierced by a spear, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Thamuz brought his hand to his ribs, feeling the deep hollow left by the attack. He could feel his own bones under his fingers, a sensation that churned his stomach. He looked up, his eyes burning with barely contained fury.


    ¡°Are you going to keep this up?¡± Thamuz growled, frustration evident in his voice. ¡°Attacking me and running?¡±


    Bhaxmunt smiled, licking Thamuz¡¯s blood from his fingers in a gesture that made several spectators look away, disgusted. ¡°Of course, after all, I want your suffering to last,¡± he responded with an almost melodic tone, as if he were enjoying a particularly entertaining show.


    The sight of Bhaxmunt delighting in his blood ignited something primal in Thamuz. Without thinking, without preparing any combat stance, he charged at his opponent with brutal, blind force.


    Bhaxmunt, however, was ready. At the last moment, he sidestepped with fluid grace, allowing Thamuz to rush past, nearly falling out of the arena.


    ¡°What did I say about attacking like that?¡± Bhaxmunt said, his voice now tinged with false concern that only served to fuel Thamuz¡¯s anger.


    Thamuz slowly regained his balance, his breathing heavy and labored. When he turned to face Bhaxmunt, his gaze had changed. The rage and annoyance were still there, burning in his eyes, but now there was something more. A spark of knowledge, a glimmer of understanding that hadn¡¯t been there before.


    Thamuz let out a guttural growl and lunged at Bhaxmunt with the ferocity of a hungry predator. Bhaxmunt, with irritation and focus on his face, exhaled a barely audible sigh and dodged the attack with supernatural grace. His movement was so fluid it seemed he danced between shadows.


    Taking advantage of the opening, Bhaxmunt prepared to sink his sharp fingers into Thamuz¡¯s abdomen. However, his opponent, showing surprising agility for someone his size, moved with lightning speed. Bhaxmunt¡¯s attack, instead of finding fresh flesh, struck the wound previously inflicted on Thamuz¡¯s ribs.


    Aware of the unexpected shift, Bhaxmunt leaped back with an acrobatic jump, his eyes scrutinizing every move of his opponent. Thamuz, on the other hand, fell to one knee, his right hand pressing the freshly aggravated wound. The blood, a dark crimson almost black, gushed between his fingers like a macabre geyser.


    ¡°Well, well... Looks like I¡¯ve found your weak spot,¡± declared Thamuz, a crooked smile forming on his cracked lips.


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    ¡°Weak spot?¡± Bhaxmunt retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. ¡°I have none. Besides, who¡¯s on their knees and who¡¯s still standing?¡± he added, attempting to humiliate his rival.


    Thamuz, far from feeling intimidated, let out a laugh that echoed in the stale air surrounding them. ¡°True, but I noticed something fascinating. Your fingers can pierce my muscles like butter, but when I examined the wound on my ribs, I could see the bone... intact.¡± His eyes gleamed with a mix of pain and excitement. ¡°That led me to an interesting theory: you can pierce the muscle, but what about the bones? Are your fingers sharp enough to break them?


    Bhaxmunt''s confidence wavered for a moment. "What exactly do you mean?"


    "Well, considering your height," Thamuz continued, slowly rising like a wounded but dangerous beast, "I estimate you''re about two meters tall. Your fingers are long enough to have pierced my ribs if they had the ability. But they couldn''t. That suggests to me a potential weakness: the inability to penetrate bone tissue."


    Bhaxmunt, trying to maintain his composure, let out a forced laugh. "So what? Do you plan to tear out all your bones to face me? That only shows how absurd your reasoning is."


    Thamuz''s eyes gleamed with a sinister light, and a sadistic smile spread across his bloodied face. "You''ll see... Just come closer," he whispered, his voice loaded with an implicit threat that made the air between them dense and heavy.


    Meanwhile, in the stands, Tawnylon observed with analytical eyes the strategy Thamuz had adopted. His gaze missed none of the combat''s details.


    "So the nilux is weak against bones," Tawnylon murmured, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "That''s why Bhaxmunt only attacked vital points instead of areas with more robust bones, like the forehead or forearms. Fascinating."


    Armesto, sitting next to him, leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. "Moreover, Thamuz has the size advantage, surpassing Bhaxmunt by about thirty centimeters. Although it doesn''t seem like much, in a fight like this, it could change everything. His bones are wider and longer, and his body is capable of withstanding considerable physical punishment."


    In the arena, the fight intensified. Bhaxmunt, driven by desesperation, lunged at Thamuz. His hands, with fingers as sharp as daggers, sought to penetrate his opponent''s defense. However, Thamuz, displaying surprising agility for his size, leaned back, dodging the attack by mere millimeters.


    Taking advantage of Bhaxmunt''s missed strike, Thamuz counterattacked with brutal precision. His hand, open like a claw, struck Bhaxmunt''s chest with devastating force. The blow echoed in the arena like thunder.


    Bhaxmunt was sent flying, rolling across the dusty ground until he lay on his back. The impact from Thamuz''s attack had left him dazed, his vision blurred, and he could only perceive a menacing shadow rising over him.


    With superhuman effort, Bhaxmunt managed to regain visual clarity just in time to see Thamuz preparing to pounce on him. In an act of desperation and cunning, Bhaxmunt reacted with lightning speed. Using one of his toes like a living sword, he stabbed Thamuz''s knee.


    Thamuz''s scream of pain echoed in the arena, a scream that could broke the soul. Bhaxmunt took advantage of that moment to get up quickly, though not without consequences. Upon examining his foot, he noticed the toe he had used for the attack was bruised and sore, making it difficult for him to walk.


    Thamuz, visibly limping from the blow, flashed a crooked smile. "The knee is also a very hard place to be pierced by your fingers, isn''t it, Bhaxmunt?" he said, his voice showing pain and satisfaction. "It seems we''ve both learned something new today."


    "Don''t get cocky just because you managed to hit me a couple of times," Bhaxmunt spat, his voice filled with restrained anger. "I still have several techniques up my sleeve. I can''t allow you to adapt to my fighting style."


    Thamuz frowned, confused. "Adapt? What do you mean?"


    Bhaxmunt flashed a sinister smile. "I was in the stands during your fight with Khabixan, studying your every move. Your body adapts depending on your opponent. With Khabixan, he was only playing with you, using a few techniques. That was his fatal mistake. You adapted to his attacks by developing an organic armor similar to scales, neutralizing his blows. But that was because you had enough time to adapt, something I won''t allow to happen with me. When I get the chance, I¡¯ll use all my techniques to finish you off."


    As he spoke, Bhaxmunt assumed a lower combat stance, his hands now resembling deadly spears. Thamuz, without responding, prepared for any attack, his eyes fixed on his adversary.


    Suddenly, Bhaxmunt lunged. Thamuz tried to dodge, but Bhaxmunt, in an unexpected move, stepped back and kicked his side, burying his fingers between Thamuz''s ribs.


    The pain shot through Thamuz like lightning. He moved his arm frantically, trying to hit Bhaxmunt, but he had already ducked and stabbed the same spot he had just attacked.


    Thamuz howled in pain and retreated to one side of the arena, clutching his bleeding wound. Large chunks of flesh had been ripped away. "Damn you..." he whispered to himself, watching the blood flow from his right side.


    With fierce determination, Thamuz began approaching Bhaxmunt, whose face now showed utter seriousness, his typical smile completely erased.


    In an instant that seemed to last an eternity, Bhaxmunt charged at Thamuz, aiming for his chest. Thamuz tried to grab him, but Bhaxmunt dodged with supernatural agility.


    Bhaxmunt crouched, supporting himself on his arms, and delivered a devastating blow with his heel to Thamuz''s chin. The impact was so strong that Thamuz was momentarily knocked out.


    Bhaxmunt smiled, satisfied with the effectiveness of his strike. However, his smile quickly faded when he saw Thamuz recover almost instantly.


    With impressive speed and strength, Thamuz grabbed Bhaxmunt''s leg and lifted him into the air as if he weighed nothing. Then, in a brutal move, he slammed him against the arena floor with overwhelming force. The impact was so violent that the ground shattered, raising a cloud of dust and debris.


    When the dust cloud cleared, Bhaxmunt lay motionless on the ground, apparently unconscious. However, Thamuz''s sharp eyes caught a slight movement in his opponent''s fingers. Without hesitation, Thamuz raised his arms, preparing to deliver a final, devastating blow.


    But Bhaxmunt, showing superhuman resilience, got up with lightning speed, dodging the attack by mere millimeters. In a fluid and lethal motion, his fingers sliced through the air and Thamuz''s flesh, drawing a deadly line from his left shoulder to his right, dangerously close to his neck.


    Thamuz staggered back, dazed, as blood poured from the newly opened wound. Bhaxmunt also took a step back, his eyes fixed on his opponent, assessing the damage inflicted.


    "My fingers can do more than stab," Bhaxmunt explained with terrifying calm, gently waving his bloodied hand. "They can also cut like the sharpest axe blade."


    Thamuz, fighting against the pain and blood loss, staggered to his feet. He moved toward Bhaxmunt with unsteady steps, determination blazing in his eyes despite his apparent weakness.


    Bhaxmunt, sensing his opponent''s vulnerability, launched an attack. His hand, formed like a lethal spear, aimed directly at Thamuz''s neck, seeking the final blow.


    But Thamuz, in an act of desperation and cunning, spat blood directly into Bhaxmunt''s face. The unexpected attack caused Bhaxmunt to instinctively bring his hands to his face, momentarily blinded by the blood.


    Taking advantage of his rival''s confusion, Thamuz pounced on Bhaxmunt with a force born of sheer will. He grabbed him by the waist and, in a display of herculean strength, lifted him and slammed him to the ground for the second time.


    "That''s twice now I''ve slammed you into the ground," Thamuz panted, his body trembling from the effort. "I hope this time you stay knocked out."


    The dust cloud quickly dissipated, revealing Bhaxmunt lying on the ground. But, to everyone''s astonishment, he began to rise slowly, limping but still determined.


    "I''m going to kill you..." Bhaxmunt whispered, his words laden with cold, calculated fury.


    Thamuz watched Bhaxmunt''s slow but relentless advance, feeling his own body beginning to fail him. He fell to his knees, his vision blurring.


    "What''s happening to me?" Thamuz wondered, his voice barely a whisper.


    Bhaxmunt, observing Thamuz''s weakened state, let out a muted laugh that echoed in the arena. With a nearly casual gesture, he wiped his bloodied hands on his own hair, staining it a dark red.


    "Attacking me so recklessly has its consequences," Bhaxmunt said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You''ve lost too much blood, and your body is paying the price. It was only a matter of time before you felt the effects."


    He positioned himself in front of Thamuz, who remained on his knees, vulnerable. Bhaxmunt raised his palm, pointing two fingers toward his opponent''s exposed neck. "Now, the fight ends here," he declared with chilling coldness.


    Thamuz, feeling the weight of his apparent defeat, closed his eyes and slightly extended his arms, as if accepting his fate. The entire arena held its breath, anticipating the final blow.


    Bhaxmunt struck with blinding speed. The sound of bones cracking reverberated in the air, accompanied by a cloud of dust rising from the impact.


    But when the dust settled, the scene that unfolded left everyone astonished. Thamuz, in a moment of cunning and desperation, had tilted his head forward, placing his forehead in the path of Bhaxmunt''s attack. The attacker''s two fingers, instead of piercing Thamuz''s neck, had crashed against his frontal bone, breaking in the process.


    "Did you forget?" Thamuz said, a triumphant smile forming on his bloodied face. "You¡¯re not able to penetrate my bones."

 Chapter 27: third combat of shamonak to death (part three)

    At the top of the stands, in an exclusive section of the arena, Khabixan stood with an imposing presence. He wore immaculate white clothes that contrasted with his bare feet and the bandages covering his battered torso. His sharp, calculating eyes followed every movement of the fight between Thamuz and Bhaxmunt as he took a drag from an improvised cigarette that emitted a peculiar yellow smoke.


    ¡°If I hadn¡¯t been so overconfident, I could have killed you with a single technique,¡± he muttered to himself, exhaling a cloud of yellowish smoke.


    ¡°Not even with your best technique could you have won,¡± a familiar voice resonated behind him.


    Khabixan turned sharply, coming face to face with Bhogtan. The newcomer¡¯s head was almost completely wrapped in bandages, leaving only his piercing eyes and mouth visible.


    ¡°Well, it looks like you¡¯ve woken up too,¡± Khabixan remarked, turning his attention back to the fight.


    Bhogtan positioned himself next to him, his presence equally imposing. ¡°My chest still hurts a lot, and I¡¯ve got a hell of a migraine,¡± he confessed.


    ¡°We¡¯re in the same boat...¡± Khabixan responded with a hint of empathy.


    With a casual gesture, Khabixan offered the cigarette to Bhogtan, who accepted it. As he inhaled, the smoke formed abstract patterns in the air, as if it had a life of its own.


    ¡°This is the good stuff,¡± Bhogtan laughed, handing the cigarette back.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s helped with the pain,¡± Khabixan nodded.


    Bhogtan¡¯s tone shifted to a more serious one. ¡°Hey, by the way, I heard they found your brother-in-law pretty messed up. I think he had a broken leg and shattered ribs.¡±


    Khabixan nodded, taking another drag. ¡°Yeah, I heard too. That idiot¡¯s always been hot-headed. Seems like he finally ran into someone who could teach him a lesson.¡±


    ¡°Who do you think it was? Maybe it could have been...¡±


    Khabixan interrupted, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Hey, you¡¯re talking quite formally now, aren¡¯t you? What happened to the wild and rude Bhogtan that everyone always sees in the arena?¡±


    Bhogtan smirked slyly. ¡°Oh, that. Well, gotta keep the crowd entertained, right? Seems like they like it when I act like a brainless savage. All the stuff I¡¯ve consumed to get this body might¡¯ve fried my brain a bit, but not as much as they think.¡±


    ¡°I see, you¡¯re easier to talk to this way,¡± Khabixan said, leaning back slightly. ¡°By the way, what do you think of the fight?¡±


    Bhogtan tilted his head forward, a slight gasp of pain escaping his lips as he watched the arena. A broad smile spread across his bandaged face.


    ¡°It looks like a game of chase,¡± he commented between restrained laughter.


    Khabixan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. ¡°Why do you say that?¡±


    ¡°Just look at them,¡± Bhogtan explained, crossing his muscular arms. ¡°A hit, they pull back, chase each other, and then another hit. It¡¯s like the games we used to play as kids.¡±


    Khabixan nodded, thoughtful. ¡°Maybe, but don¡¯t you find something curious about Thamuz?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bhogtan asked, his interest palpable.


    Khabixan leaned forward, his voice lowering to a more serious tone. ¡°Just look at his wounds compared to Bhaxmunt¡¯s. They¡¯re bigger and more lacerating. Even I would be on the ground crying in pain, but he takes it naturally. He grimaces and screams, but he always keeps going. It was the same when I fought him.¡±


    He tossed the cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his bare foot. ¡°Those kinds of fighters, with that kind of resilience and durability, are the worst ones to face.¡±


    ¡°Really? Why do you say that?¡± Bhogtan asked, his curiosity growing.


    Khabixan paused, his eyes fixed on the battle unfolding below. When he spoke, his voice was laden with fear.


    ¡°Because those kinds of fighters...¡± he paused dramatically, ¡°seem to be immortal.¡±


    A piercing scream escaped Bhaxmunt¡¯s lips as he looked at his broken fingers. With a grimace of pain, he delivered a devastating kick to Thamuz¡¯s chin, forcing him to stumble back.


    Thamuz felt the impact but remained standing. He brought his fingers to his mouth and carefully pulled out a broken tooth. He looked at it with an expression of surprise.


    ¡°My teeth have never fallen out before,¡± he murmured, closing his fist around the fragment.


    Without warning, with incredible speed and strength, Thamuz hurled the tooth like a deadly arrow. The projectile broke the sound barrier and pierced Bhaxmunt¡¯s shoulder before he could react.


    ¡°Bastard!¡± Bhaxmunt howled, writhing in pain from the wound.


    Thamuz lunged at him, intending to tackle him to the ground. But Bhaxmunt, despite his injury, reacted with surprising agility, kicking him and slamming Thamuz into the ground.


    However, Thamuz immediately got up and managed to grab Bhaxmunt by the shoulders, immobilizing him.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Finally, I¡¯ve got you,¡± Thamuz said, throwing his head back, preparing for a devastating headbutt.


    Bhaxmunt knew what was coming, but his mobility was limited by the overwhelming strength of his opponent. In a last act of desperation, he put his forearm in the way, cushioning the impact.


    Taking advantage of the opening, Bhaxmunt drove the fingers of his left arm into Thamuz¡¯s ribs, forcing him to release his grip. He backed away, observing his shattered right arm, fingers broken, but still able to move.


    Thamuz, relentless as a colossus, rose once again, steam emanating from his body. Seeing this, Bhaxmunt felt fear wash over him, closing his eyes as he was transported to a memory from the past.


    Bhaxmunt recalled a moment that had marked him for life. When he was ten years old, his parents, practitioners of nilux, had gone to the war of the Seven Blood Moons. Weeks passed, and Bhaxmunt''s parents had not returned. However, something unexpected and terrifying had happened in their absence. The war had spread to their territories, consuming everything in its path with fire and violence.


    When Bhaxmunt returned home, he was met with a heartbreaking scene. His house had been destroyed, reduced to rubble. Everywhere he looked, there were corpses of people he knew: neighbors, Shamonak warriors he had seen in combat arenas, imperial soldiers, and more. But the worst came when he arrived at a specific place: there, in plain sight, lay the lifeless bodies of his own parents.


    Next to them, a towering figure stood out. His skin was white as a star, his horns enormous, and his eyes blue. Apparently, this colossus had fought a fierce battle with Bhaxmunt''s parents, as his body was covered in wounds.


    Upon seeing the child, the colossus set aside the bodies and approached with threatening steps. But just then, a smaller figure intervened, stopping him.


    ¡°They''re all dead, Tawnylon,¡± the figure said.


    ¡°I know, but look, there¡¯s still a child left, Armesto,¡± Tawnylon replied, referring to Bhaxmunt.


    Armesto, the smaller figure, approached the terrified Bhaxmunt, knelt before him, and looked directly into his eyes.


    ¡°This is just a nightmare, boy,¡± he said with a faint smile. ¡°When you wake up, you¡¯ll find nothing.¡±


    Bhaxmunt tried to speak, but Armesto was faster. He pulled a mysterious powder from his pockets and blew it into the boy¡¯s face, who fell asleep instantly.


    ¡°Take the child to an abandoned house,¡± Armesto ordered, heading towards the battle carriages waiting to take them back to the kingdom. ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep if we left him to die.¡±


    ¡°Understood. I¡¯ll keep him well hidden,¡± Tawnylon nodded, carefully lifting the boy into his arms.


    The colossus walked toward a ruined house, kicking open the door. He climbed to the highest room and laid the boy on a bed, carefully hiding him. Before leaving, he gave him one last look and returned to Armesto.


    However, when Bhaxmunt awoke, he found himself in a completely different place. He was in a carriage, being transported by someone familiar: his parents'' master, who had miraculously survived the war. This man had taken Bhaxmunt in as his new pupil, taking him to the remote mountains to teach him the techniques of nilux.


    Years later, during the fierce battle with Thamuz, his master¡¯s words echoed in Bhaxmunt¡¯s mind:


    "In any situation, if your life is in danger, don¡¯t hesitate to use everything at your disposal. Whether it¡¯s a weapon or your own hands, use it to survive."


    With renewed determination, Bhaxmunt opened his eyes and lunged at Thamuz. His opponent expected another stab, but was surprised when Bhaxmunt grabbed him by the waist.


    The grip was effective, bringing Thamuz down. Bhaxmunt positioned himself on top and began punching him in the head, trying to knock him out. Thamuz shielded himself with his forearms and, using the strength of his torso, managed to lift Bhaxmunt enough to deliver a palm strike that sent him flying backward.


    Bhaxmunt immediately got up and attacked Thamuz, who was still trying to rise. He delivered a kick to the back, digging his fingers into his enemy¡¯s flesh. Thamuz responded by grabbing him by the neck and lifting him up.


    Taking advantage of the situation, Bhaxmunt clung to Thamuz¡¯s arm as if embracing it and began stabbing the arm with his toes. Thamuz felt the sharp pain and tried to shake him off, but Bhaxmunt held on and started biting Thamuz¡¯s fingers ferociously.


    Thamuz, feeling desperation grow inside him, slammed his arm against the ground with all his might. Bhaxmunt¡¯s grip loosened, freeing him momentarily.


    Gasping, Thamuz leaned back and sat on the ground, staring in horror at his bruised and lacerated arm. But his relief was short-lived as he saw Bhaxmunt crawling toward him with unshakable determination.


    Both fighters struggled to stand, trembling from exhaustion and pain. They locked eyes as they moved toward the center of the arena, like two titans on the verge of collapse.


    "Let¡¯s end this," Thamuz said, his voice heavy with fatigue and resignation.


    "I¡¯m going to kill you," Bhaxmunt whispered, his eyes burning with a mix of hatred and determination.


    They raised their palms and began exchanging frantic blows. Thamuz attacked slowly but with devastating power, while Bhaxmunt¡¯s strikes, though weaker, rained down relentlessly on his rival.


    Desperation overtook Bhaxmunt as he started stabbing Thamuz with his fingers, searching for vital points. Thamuz, feeling his life slipping away, gathered his last bit of strength for a final attack.


    With a blood-curdling scream that echoed across the arena, Thamuz delivered one final, powerful blow straight to Bhaxmunt¡¯s head. The impact was brutal, but Bhaxmunt, clinging to a thread of consciousness, saw an opportunity in his enemy¡¯s unprotected chest.


    "Heartshatter!" Bhaxmunt shouted, launching his fist with all the strength he had left.


    The blow struck directly at Thamuz¡¯s heart. The legendary Heartshatter technique began to take effect immediately. Thamuz felt his heart slow, his muscles loosen, and darkness creep into his vision.


    "Finally, I¡¯ve killed you!" Bhaxmunt exclaimed, relief and euphoria in his voice.


    But fate had other plans. Before falling, Thamuz grabbed Bhaxmunt¡¯s head with both hands. He rose one last time, locking eyes with his opponent. To Bhaxmunt¡¯s horror, Thamuz¡¯s eyes had turned completely black, like endless pits of darkness.


    "Well, it seems you¡¯re very strong, boy," Thamuz said, his voice transformed into an eerie echo that chilled the blood. "But I can¡¯t let someone with this potential die just like that. I hope you can understand me in the next life."


    "Wait..." Bhaxmunt¡¯s words were abruptly cut off as an abyssal pressure began crushing his skull. Thamuz, or whatever was controlling him now, exerted supernatural force on his head.


    Desperate, Bhaxmunt tried to counterattack, frantically stabbing Thamuz¡¯s chest with his fingers. But his enemy¡¯s muscles had turned to steel, and Bhaxmunt¡¯s fingers snapped one after the other. Still, driven by a primal survival instinct, he continued attacking until his hands were completely destroyed.


    With one final, heart-wrenching scream that echoed through the arena, Bhaxmunt¡¯s head gave way under the supernatural pressure. A red cloud of blood and bone fragments dispersed into the air, completely covering Thamuz.


    Thamuz¡¯s body, still standing, lifted its gaze toward the sky, which was beginning to darken.


    "It¡¯s almost night. It¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve seen the stars," said the spectral voice emanating from Thamuz, with an almost nostalgic tone that macabrely contrasted with the bloody scene.


    However, the entity controlling Thamuz felt its strength fading. Thamuz¡¯s heart, stopped by Bhaxmunt¡¯s Heartshatter, threatened to leave it without a vessel. In a desperate act, the entity made Thamuz drive his own hand into his chest, grabbing the inert heart and applying supernatural pressure until it began to beat again.


    "It¡¯s alright, boy," the dark voice murmured, as if speaking to Thamuz. "I¡¯ll give you more help later because you¡¯ll need it. For now, just enjoy your victory."


    Thamuz¡¯s body extended its arms and collapsed backward, lifeless on the blood-soaked arena. For a moment, silence reigned over the arena, broken only by the distant echo of a voice announcing:


    "The winner is Thamuz!"

 Chapter 28: the power of a memory

    In the shadows of an ancient castle, a short soldier, but covered in heavy armor, descended endless stone stairs. His torch cast dancing shadows on the walls, revealing scars from past battles: deep cracks, weapon marks, and dark stains whose origin was better left to the imagination.


    After ten exhausting minutes, the soldier finally reached the bottom. He found himself in a long hallway flanked by sturdy wooden doors, each sealing off a different room. The air was thick with humidity and a sharp smell that made his nose itch even through his helmet.


    As he advanced, piercing screams began to seep through the doors:


    "No, please, not with that!" pleaded a voice, broken by terror.


    "I didn¡¯t kill anyone!" protested another, mixing desperation and indignation.


    "My eyes, my eyes!" screamed a third, in a blood-curdling wail.


    The soldier swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He quickened his pace, heading toward the only door at the end of the hallway, illuminated by an unsettling white light seeping through its edges.


    With a trembling hand, he knocked on the door with his metal-plated knuckles.


    "Enter," responded a raspy voice from within, laden with authority and something more... something supernatural.


    The soldier obeyed, blinking at the sudden intensity of the light. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Zarakel sitting on an ornate chair, manipulating various flasks filled with impossibly colored liquids.


    "Sir, I..." the soldier attempted to report, but fatigue and fear cut his words short.


    Without looking away from his experiments, Zarakel extended a tentacle from his back¡ªa sight that still made the soldier''s stomach churn¡ªand dipped it into a nearby bucket. He then offered it to the exhausted messenger.


    "Here, drink," Zarakel ordered, his voice a raspy whisper.


    <div>


    The soldier drank desperately, the cool water a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the dungeon.


    "Sir, the fight is over," he finally reported, wiping his mouth with a stained glove.


    "Really?" Zarakel¡¯s voice took on a tone of macabre hope. "Did Bhaxmunt manage to kill Thamuz?"


    The soldier fell silent, his gaze fixed on the stone floor. The silence grew so thick it was almost tangible.


    "I see," Zarakel murmured, his voice tinged with disappointment and resignation. "Even the natural predator of the shamonak couldn''t defeat Thamuz."


    Gathering all his courage, Berkum managed to articulate:


    "Thamuz... killed Bhaxmunt. He grabbed his head and crushed it."


    The revelation seemed to shake Zarakel. With supernatural speed, he mixed the flasks in his hands until they formed a single substance, which he carefully stored in one of his pockets. He rose from his ornate chair and walked toward the door.


    "Come, walk with me for a moment," Zarakel ordered, placing his arms behind his back in a deceptively casual gesture.


    Berkum nodded, puzzled by Zarakel''s apparent calm in the face of such shocking news. Together, they left the room and walked down the hallway. The screams and wails of the prisoners continued, but Zarakel seemed immune to them, his face a mask of impassivity.


    They ventured deeper into the castle, passing through hallways and chambers the soldier had never seen. The ease with which Zarakel navigated this underground labyrinth was unnerving.


    Finally, they arrived at a stone bridge that stretched over an unfathomable abyss. The only light came from the soldier torch, casting dancing shadows on the cavern walls.


    "Tell me, what is your name?" Zarakel asked, breaking the silence.


    "My name is Berkum, sir," the soldier responded, nervousness evident in his voice.


    "Berkum... What an interesting name," Zarakel mused, turning his head slightly. "I suppose you''re from the south, where the moon turns pink."


    "Yes, how did you know?" Berkum asked, astonished.


    "Those from your lands have something special: great courage and the effort to do things right," Zarakel explained. "Normally, the one who informs me is someone much larger than you, with better physical capabilities. But I was told he couldn¡¯t fulfill his duties for a few days due to a battle injury. You were the first to volunteer to replace him. And now look at you, walking and chatting with me as if we were equals."


    "Oh, thank you, sir," Berkum said, surprised by the unexpected praise.


    "But," Zarakel added, his tone growing darker, "do you know the true virtues of this empire? The ones I have cultivated since I became king forty years ago?"


    Berkum remained silent for a moment, his mind struggling to process Zarakel¡¯s question. Finally, he responded with the conviction instilled in him during his training:


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it."Bravery, honesty, and commitment. Those are the values I was taught about our empire during my training as a soldier."


    Zarakel''s laughter erupted suddenly, echoing through the cavern with an unsettling resonance. His hand partially covered his face as he laughed, a sound so out of place in the grim atmosphere.


    "They really do train you well!" he exclaimed between diminishing chuckles.


    Zarakel turned to face Berkum, the height difference between them emphasizing the aura of power that emanated from the king.


    "Do you follow those virtues?" he asked, his raspy voice carrying an indecipherable tone.


    "Yes, it is my duty as a soldier to follow the empire''s virtues," Berkum replied, trying to maintain his composure.


    "Excellent, as a soldier," Zarakel paused, "but have you ever followed your own virtues?"


    "What do you mean?" Berkum hesitated, confusion evident in his voice.


    Zarakel turned and began to walk toward the end of the bridge, where a gigantic door stood, emanating a disturbing red light.


    "You see, Berkum," Zarakel began, his tone growing sinister, "virtues are something we great leaders use to instill good values and order within our empire. But in truth, they are something we use to shape the empire that lies within us, guiding the decisions that will keep it standing. Do you want to know the virtues that govern the empire within me?"


    Berkum swallowed nervously, his body trembling slightly under the weight of his armor, now drenched in cold sweat.


    "What are your virtues?" he finally asked, gathering all his courage.


    "Power is the greatest of virtues," Zarakel declared. "It is what drives me to want more and more in this life. Strength to keep moving forward despite obstacles. And lastly, tolerance, to know how to handle every situation, no matter the cost."


    They reached the massive door, and Zarakel touched it with one of his tentacles, a gesture that made Berkum shudder involuntarily. The door creaked open ominously, revealing several figures draped in white robes stained with blood.


    "Now," Zarakel said, his voice filled with macabre anticipation, "here you will see how those virtues are applied."


    He invited Berkum to enter with a gesture of his tentacle. Both stepped into the room bathed in that unnatural red light, their eyes slowly adjusting to the crimson gloom.


    "What is this place?" Berkum asked, his voice barely a whisper, choked by the horror surrounding him.


    The scene before his eyes was a living nightmare. Rows of cells extended in all directions, each housing people and creatures in various states of mutilation. Their bodies were covered in fresh scars, like grotesque canvases crafted by a mad artist. Figures in white moved between the cells with unsettling efficiency, transporting organs and impossibly colored liquids in containers that seemed to pulse with life. The stench in the air was indescribable, a nauseating mixture of antiseptic and decay. Berkum had to fight the urge to vomit, covering his nose with a trembling hand.


    "This is where I like to play with life," Zarakel explained, his voice laden with disturbing enthusiasm. "I mold it to my will and watch it grow. This is my personal playground."


    One of the white-clad figures approached Zarakel silently and whispered something in his ear. The king''s eyes widened, and a macabre smile spread across his face.


    "Excellent. We will go immediately," he declared, his voice brimming with unnatural joy.


    Zarakel quickened his pace, with Berkum struggling to keep up. They arrived at a towering metal door, reinforced with materials that looked capable of withstanding the blow of a titan.


    "Open the door," Zarakel commanded, his voice reverberating against the walls of the complex.


    The operatives complied, activating a mechanism that caused the door to slide open with a metallic screech. What it revealed left Berkum paralyzed with horror.


    "Son, how nice to see you!" Zarakel exclaimed with grotesque enthusiasm.


    Before them stood Gigantino, but in a state that defied all comprehension. His flesh hung from hooks embedded in the wall, like a grotesque living tapestry. His body was covered in fresh surgical wounds, bruises of every imaginable color staining his skin. Gigantino''s face, once powerful, was now a mask of exhaustion and despair. Zarakel entered the room with determined steps, while Berkum remained frozen at the threshold, unable to tear his eyes away from the nightmarish scene. His mind struggled to reconcile the powerful Gigantino he had known with this tortured, mutilated version.


    Zarakel knelt in front of Gigantino, his hands¡ªunnaturally cold¡ªcradling his son''s shattered face. His eyes, filled with grotesque affection, locked onto Gigantino''s.


    "How is my dear son?" Zarakel asked with perverse tenderness.


    "It... it hu...rts," Gigantino mumbled, each word a torment.


    "I know, I know, my son," Zarakel whispered, his voice a macabre lullaby. "But it¡¯s necessary. I can¡¯t waste this opportunity that your little toy has given me. It¡¯s not every day that we find ghunmak in such a pure state. It will increase your chances of defeating that damned Thamuz."


    Zarakel pulled out the vial he had stored earlier. The liquid inside glowed with an unnatural blue light, reflecting in Gigantino¡¯s dull eyes.


    "I combined it with other substances," Zarakel explained, his voice full of sick pride. "They will boost your strength, endurance, and durability to unimaginable levels. You¡¯ll be able to challenge the gods themselves."


    With trembling hands of anticipation, Zarakel uncorked the vial. He grabbed Gigantino¡¯s chin, forcing him to drink half of the contents. Then, he stepped back, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of expectation and madness.


    "Now, we just have to wait," he whispered to himself.


    The effect was immediate and horrifying. Gigantino began to convulse, his screams of agony echoing through the chamber. His muscles swelled grotesquely, the skin stretching to the point of breaking. Bone spikes erupted from his body, tearing through flesh and clothing alike.


    With a bestial roar, Gigantino freed himself from one of the hooks that held him.


    "Seal the doors!" Zarakel ordered, his voice tinged with a morbid excitement as he hurried out of the room.


    The workers obeyed, sealing the chamber. The howls and screams that filtered through the metal were chilling, a symphony of pain and transformation.


    Suddenly, deafening bangs began to resonate. The creature Gigantino had become was slamming against the door, each impact leaving deep dents in the reinforced metal. Then, as abruptly as it had started, silence fell.


    Berkum, unable to bear it any longer, collapsed to his knees. Tears of horror and despair streamed down his face as he looked at Zarakel, searching for some vestige of sanity in that monstrous figure.


    "What have you done?" he managed to choke out between sobs.


    Zarakel turned slowly, his face illuminated by a smile that seemed to tear at the very edges of comprehension. His eyes, dark pools of madness and unbridled ambition, locked onto Berkum.


    "I..." he declared, his voice seeming to emanate from the depths of hell, "have tested my virtues."

 Chapter 29: my other self

    "Pain... it hurts..." an ethereal voice echoed in an undefined space.


    Darkness reigned supreme, with no trace of light nor the laws of gravity, as if that void existed beyond the limits of known reality.


    In that incorporeal limbo was Thamuz, floating in a fetal position, his eyes tightly shut, his face twisted in a grimace of agony.


    "It hurts..." he repeated incessantly, his voice broken by suffering.


    But there was no answer to his desperate cry, not a single compassionate hand to help him alleviate the torment that gripped his body and mind.


    Suddenly, another voice, deep and mocking, broke the silence:


    "Does it hurt, boy?"


    Thamuz''s eyes shot open, abandoning his fetal position. His hands instinctively clutched at his ribs, which seemed to have been torn apart by some fierce rival in a brutal fight.


    "Who... who said that?" Thamuz asked, his voice trembling with fear and pain.


    What seemed to be the silence of something lurking in the darkness turned into sinister laughter that echoed in Thamuz''s ears, reverberating in the void around him.


    "You really overdid it in your fight. Did you think you were immortal?" mocked the voice, dripping malice with every word.


    Thamuz frantically scanned his surroundings, trying in vain to locate the source of that terrifying voice. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming and malevolent presence materializing behind him. A chill ran through his body as he slowly turned, afraid of what he might find.


    "At last, we meet face to face, my little creation," declared the voice with cruel satisfaction.


    Paralyzed by horror, Thamuz finally beheld the source of the voice: a colossal demonic skull floated before him, crowned by enormous twisted horns. Its eyes were pits of darkness, barely illuminated by a tiny red point at the center of its deep, hollow sockets.


    Overcome with panic, Thamuz reacted instinctively. With a swift motion, he raised his arm and delivered a powerful palm strike to the demon¡¯s jaw. The force of the impact sent the supernatural being hurtling toward a solid surface that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.


    "Damn it!" the demon roared, its voice filled with fury and indignation. "If you weren¡¯t so important for my return to the universe, I would have annihilated you the moment you dared to touch me."


    The demon rose slowly, materializing two long, pale arms from nowhere. With a fluid movement, these spectral appendages grabbed its jaw and realigned it with a chilling snap.


    "You have great strength, I¡¯ll admit that," the demon conceded, flashing a macabre smile that revealed rows of razor-sharp teeth.


    "Who are you?" Thamuz inquired, maintaining his defensive stance, his muscles tense and ready to react to any threat.


    The demonic skull widened its smile to impossible limits and suddenly vanished into the surrounding darkness. The black abyss seemed to expand, swallowing everything in its path. However, in the midst of that unfathomable void, a warm, bright light emerged, as if a dimensional door had opened in the middle of nowhere.


    "Enter," the same deep voice ordered, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.


    Thamuz gazed at the light with a mix of fascination and suspicion. The warmth it emitted was irresistibly enticing, but his caution kept him alert, aware that the unknown could conceal unimaginable dangers.


    Gradually, gravity seemed to stabilize. Thamuz felt himself stop floating, and his feet touched solid ground, invisible in the darkness. As he took his first steps toward the light, he noticed he was limping, a reminder of the brutal fight that had brought him to this enigmatic place.


    He continued moving toward that luminous firmament. Upon crossing the threshold, the warmth enveloped him entirely. The pain that had gripped his body disappeared as if by magic, while the blinding light embraced him, purifying his wounds.


    As the radiance slowly began to fade, darkness reclaimed its dominion. Thamuz found himself standing with no reference point in that absolute void.


    "Are you feeling better?" asked the familiar voice of the demon.


    "Yes, much better," Thamuz replied, surprised by the absence of pain.


    The demon gradually reappeared from the shadows, this time with a less terrifying appearance. Its arms, now visible as separate entities, moved with a certain disarray, as if they had a will of their own.


    "So, little creature," said the demon, as one of its hands scratched its bony chin thoughtfully, "how have these six years treated you?"


    Thamuz felt a strange pang at the question. Six years... exactly the time that had passed since he was found in that small crater.


    "Why do you want to know?" Thamuz asked, wary.


    "Because right now, I would be the one controlling that body, sowing destruction and terror across this damned universe!" the demon roared, its voice filled with fury and frustration.


    The dark space seemed to rumble with the demon¡¯s bellow. Thamuz fell to the ground, overwhelmed by fear, watching as the creature¡¯s skull turned a burning red and its fists clenched with supernatural force.


    "If only that wretched Huzarboth hadn''t had contact with those hairless apes, our return would have been glorious! Plagues would have consumed all of reality. But no, that doctor had to stand between us. And now... only I remain."


    The last word was uttered with rage and melancholy. The demon turned its back on Thamuz, its fists still clenched in a gesture of helplessness.


    "Well," the demon said, its voice now calmer and more reflective, "it seems your parents raised you well. You look big and strong."


    "Yes, I¡¯ve always eaten well, though I haven¡¯t trained," Thamuz replied, a hint of insecurity in his voice.


    "I see," the demon murmured, snapping its fingers with a sound that echoed in the void. "Come, walk with me."


    Thamuz stood up, watching as the demon moved through the darkness. Its arms flowed with supernatural grace, its fingers tracing enigmatic shapes in the air.


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    Suddenly, the darkness began to lift, revealing the image of a colossal planet, a deep and intense red.


    "What is this place?" Thamuz asked, his curiosity momentarily surpassing his fear.


    "This is Celhiux Octavo, the planet of war, one of a kind," the demon explained with a tone that conveyed both reverence and bitterness. "Here, the fiercest wars in the universe have been fought, from planetary conflicts to multiversal battles. And yet, the planet still stands. It was here that we lost the war... the war that changed everything."


    As they walked, Thamuz observed the scars of countless battles: craters the size of planets, colossal mountains split in half, eternal fires that still burned millennia later. But the most shocking were the mountains of decaying bodies and bones, a silent testament to the incalculable cost of war.


    Thamuz looked upon it all with fascination and horror. Finally, turning to the demon, he asked:


    "Why are we here?"


    The demon stopped, glancing at Thamuz out of the corner of its fiery eyes.


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    "After your fight with the sharp-fingered opponent, your parents and friends took you home. They submerged you in a tub filled with strange water, presumably to heal your wounds. You''re unconscious, Thamuz. It¡¯s just you and me, in this plane of reality that is your mind."


    "No... I don¡¯t believe you," Thamuz stammered, refusing to accept this possible reality. "Maybe... I''m just dreaming."


    The demon''s eyes began to glow with an intense red. It fixed its piercing gaze on Thamuz and raised one of its arms. The vision of the planet faded, replaced by a blurry image in which dark shadows could be distinguished.


    "What is this? Where are we?" Thamuz asked, nervousness evident in his voice.


    "You¡¯re looking through your own eyes, from the depths of your mind," the demon explained, placing a bony hand on Thamuz''s shoulder. "Those shadows are your parents, who have been watching over you and caring for you since they brought you home. You see them blurry because you''re submerged in that healing liquid."


    Thamuz began to hear familiar voices¡ªthose of his parents, filled with concern.


    "How long do you think it will take him to heal?" asked a female voice, undoubtedly Aolani¡¯s.


    "More than a week," replied a male voice, clearly Tawnylon¡¯s. "His body is severely damaged by Bhaxmunt''s attacks. All we can do is wait and watch over our son."


    Thamuz and the demon listened to the voices, which grew more anguished with each passing moment until they seemed to break into sobs.


    "Do you see?" said the demon, his voice tinged with a strange mix of satisfaction and empathy. "They are very worried about you. At the climax of the battle, your opponent killed you. I had to use all my energy to take control of your body for a few seconds and eliminate him. I also used the few seconds I had left to make your heart beat again. Without that, you¡¯d be dead."


    The vision faded, and darkness spread once more, leaving only Thamuz and the demon floating in the void.


    "By the way," Thamuz said, clenching his fists and raising his gaze with determination, "what exactly are you?"


    "Me?" the demon let out a guttural laugh. "I was once a plague, a villain, as most would say. But I was a god to those who truly admired power. I embodied it. To feel that essence in your hands, pure power... it¡¯s something addictive."


    As it spoke, red liquid oozed from its mouth, as if its words were bleeding.


    "I see," Thamuz said, thoughtfully bringing a hand to his chin. "So, you''re the bad guy."


    "You got it!" exclaimed the demon, raising his arms in a macabre gesture of triumph.


    "So, if that''s the case, what''s my purpose here?" inquired Thamuz, lowering his arms and locking his gaze on the demon. "You''ve shown me various places, explained so many things with ease... I don''t think you''re doing it out of kindness. You want something."


    The demon''s smile faded, and the glow in his eyes dimmed. His arms moved in circles, conjuring an image: the crater where Thamuz had been found as a mere baby.


    "This place... feels very familiar," murmured Thamuz, feeling an inexplicable warmth in his heart.


    "Of course it does," replied the demon, playing with a stone between his bony fingers. "Here you ''were born,'' thanks to me, though in truth, I should be the one inhabiting your body."


    "What? What do you mean?" asked Thamuz, his voice faltering.


    The demon sighed, a sound that seemed to resonate throughout the void.


    "You see, during the war against me and the plagues, we were easily defeated thanks to the betrayal of Halebeorth, the first plague. The surviving plagues, Yhax and Itogreth, created a portal so I could escape, regain my strength, and destroy the universe from a dead zone. But that doctor..." the demon spat the words with venom, "managed to push me and enter the portal with me, stabbing me in the neck with a pure Ethyminium knife."


    The demon mimicked the action of stabbing his throat, sticking out his tongue in a grotesque gesture.


    "I landed on this insignificant piece of land called a planet and tore off my flesh to be reborn. But something went wrong, and now you''re the owner of my body. I can''t do anything about it, but..."


    "But?" added Thamuz, intrigued by the demon''s dramatic pause.


    "But you could do something to help me," the demon continued, his voice tinged with a sickening optimism. "I would grant you my power, the ability to absorb everything: whether it be power or the essence of a living or dead being. You could absorb it all. But since I''m so weak, I can only transfer that power to your right hand. Each time you absorb something, you''ll help me recover my original strength, so I can free myself from your body and move on."


    Thamuz raised his right hand and clenched it tightly, feeling his bones creak. His eyes filled with shadows, leaving only the red dots of his irises visible.


    "Me? Help you?" Thamuz scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "With everything you''ve told me, you''re nothing but incomprehensible evil. I''m not going to help you or set you free."


    The demon was silent for a moment. He lowered his gaze, and his red eyes burned with an intensity that revealed a primordial rage. He raised his hands and opened his palms in a menacing gesture.


    "Tell me, kid, do you really think I don''t know what you love most in this world?" asked the demon, his tone heavy with menace.


    Thamuz''s eyes widened, taken aback by such a direct comment. He raised his arms in a fighting stance and ground his teeth.


    "What are you saying?" Thamuz growled, the anger palpable in his voice.


    "I''ll explain it to you simply," said the demon, fading into the darkness. "Right now, we are in a place from which you cannot escape. This is my domain: your mind. When you sleep or rest, that¡¯s the only time I can appear and see what happens."


    The demon paused and reappeared behind Thamuz, whispering in his ear:


    "But that has allowed me to see that what you love most in this world is your family. Your father, and especially your mother. What do you think their reaction would be if I prevented your body from healing its wounds, even if they submerged you in that medicinal liquid for a month? How would they react to feeling that their precious son''s heart isn''t beating, simply because I don''t allow it? I can''t imagine the heartbreaking screams that would echo. Their only son, the only son they have had in their short lives..."


    Thamuz spun around abruptly, trying to strike him, but the demon vanished, leaving only his laughter echoing throughout the place.


    "I can''t imagine when they have to bury you, their precious son, dead by the whim of a false king," continued the demon''s voice, omnipresent. "Their weeping will be a delight for me. And if that happens, you and I would be together for eternity, covered in dirt. It wouldn''t bother me; after all, I''ve been trapped in a dead universe for billions of years. But what about you? Could you bear that burden? A burden you could avoid if only you helped me with my main goal... to return to this reality."


    Thamuz covered his ears, as if every word from the demon was a knife piercing his brain. He fell to his knees, screaming in anguish.


    "Come on, kid, accept my offer," the demon said, materializing in front of Thamuz with his arm extended and palm open.


    Thamuz slowly lifted his head, small tears welling in his eyes. He reached out his trembling hand and weakly grasped the demon''s.


    "I''m only doing this for my family," Thamuz murmured, his voice cracking. "I want to see them again."


    "Good," the demon replied, satisfied. "As a gift, I will help with the healing of your wounds. They won¡¯t magically heal instantly, but it will be enough for you to get out of that tub."


    A red light emanated from the demon, enveloping Thamuz completely. The young man felt that warmth embrace him again and stretched out his arms, floating as his vision gradually faded.


    With his last strength, Thamuz asked one final question:


    "What is your name?"


    The demon was taken aback by the question, his eyes widening. But then he broke into a macabre smile.


    "My name..." he replied, his voice resonating in the darkness, "my name is Thamuz."

 Chapter 30: the dominating hand

    "It''s been two days since we submerged him in the water," Tawnylon''s voice resonated in the dim room, laden with worry.


    "I know, but I''ve seen him move among the crystal waves. That¡¯s a sign that the water is working," Aolani replied, pacing restlessly, her steps making the wooden floor creak.


    Tawnylon rose from the worn-out armchair where he had kept vigil and approached the oak tub. He placed a hand on its weathered edge while Aolani stood beside him, leaning against his shoulder with an anguished expression.


    "This is the second time we''ve seen our son in such a state, so weakened and injured," Aolani murmured, burying her face in her husband''s shoulder as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. "I can''t help but question ourselves as parents."


    "Don''t say that," Tawnylon interrupted her with a voice both firm and gentle. "We must remain strong in the face of adversity. Thamuz needs our support throughout this process; we cannot falter now."


    Suddenly, a faint groan broke the silence of the room, the lament of someone deeply pained.


    "What is that sound?" Aolani asked, scanning the shadows to locate its source.


    "It seems to be coming from the tub," Tawnylon replied, leaning cautiously toward the water''s surface.


    As he moved closer, he confirmed that the groan was emanating from its depths. He brought his ear near the water, but the sound ceased abruptly.


    At that moment, Thamuz burst up violently, his hands reaching out as if to grasp the very air. Tawnylon stepped back instinctively while Aolani watched the scene, eyes wide with shock.


    Thamuz clung to the edge of the tub, his breathing ragged, and his gaze, though unfocused, showed confusion.


    "Son¡­ you''ve awakened," Aolani stammered with a fearful voice.


    "What... what happened to me?" Thamuz asked, equally disoriented.


    "You were gravely injured after your fight with Bhaxmunt," Tawnylon explained, carefully examining his son''s condition. "We brought you to Armesto¡¯s mansion and submerged you in bandamenas water. Your recovery has been surprisingly swift."


    The wounds Thamuz had suffered during his fight with Bhaxmunt seemed to have almost miraculously vanished, though some cuts and bruises still marked his skin as reminders of the brutal clash.


    "Come, son, let me help you out of the tub," said Tawnylon, extending his hand to firmly grasp Thamuz¡¯s right arm.


    The moment he felt his father¡¯s touch, Thamuz¡¯s perception underwent an overwhelming transformation. The world around him was tinged with an ethereal blue, while his mother appeared as a reddish silhouette interwoven with green and orange sparks that danced like the northern lights.


    His father, on the other hand, radiated a pulsating crimson light, like a living flame with a will of its own. Thamuz was mesmerized by this supernatural vision, but before he could process it, his right hand sprang to life on its own. His fingers, moving with a will not his own, clamped onto his father¡¯s chest with inexplicable strength.


    "What are you doing, son?" Tawnylon¡¯s voice quivered with confusion and mounting alarm.


    Thamuz watched in horror as his arm acted independently of his will. Suddenly, a scarlet light began to emanate from his hand, so intense that it bathed the room in a crimson glow. Tawnylon let out a bloodcurdling scream, as if an invisible force were tearing his soul from him.


    "Son, you¡¯re hurting your father!" Aolani¡¯s desperate cry echoed as she lunged forward, trying to pry Thamuz¡¯s arm away.


    But the hand remained immobile, as if welded to his father¡¯s chest, who was beginning to show signs of asphyxiation. In a desperate, lucid act, Thamuz raised his left arm, clenched his fist, and struck his own right arm with all his might. The impact dislocated his epicondyle bone with a chilling crunch, rendering the possessed hand useless.


    Tawnylon collapsed backward, his skin turning a cadaverous shade as he clutched his chest with trembling hands. Aolani knelt beside him, her eyes filled with panic as she tried to help.


    Overwhelmed by the horror of his involuntary actions and the searing pain in his injured arm, Thamuz submerged himself in the water again, leaving only his face exposed. He listened as his parents left the room hastily, his father¡¯s violent coughs fading into the distance.


    Confusion and fear gripped his mind as he struggled to understand what had just happened. That loss of control over his own body had left him deeply disturbed.


    "I see you¡¯re quite precocious in experimenting with new abilities," a rough, unfamiliar voice tore through the silence, sending chills down his spine.


    Thamuz whipped his head around frantically, searching for the origin of the spectral voice that seemed to emerge from the very shadows. The room, however, remained empty, wrapped in a sepulchral silence that only made the situation more disturbing.


    "Our pact has turned out to be much more successful than expected," the voice continued, with a tone of satisfaction. "Now I can communicate with you directly, without the need to rely on illusions or wait until you succumb to sleep."


    Terrified by the voice that seemed to echo within his own mind, Thamuz covered his ears desperately, silently begging for the nightmare to end. But a cold touch on his chin froze him in place. With visceral fear, he slowly raised his gaze to meet the demon who had tormented him in his nightmares, its cadaverous, icy fingers gripping his chin.


    "Hello, my little creation. I see you''ve recovered admirably," the creature spoke, flashing a grin that seemed to tear its face from ear to ear.


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    Panic seized Thamuz, who stumbled backward violently, tripping over the tub and spilling its contents onto the wooden floor.


    "Calm down, you¡¯re still weakened from your previous encounter," the demon cautioned, advancing with calculated steps.


    Thamuz instinctively stood up, raising his left arm defensively. He tried to lift his right arm, but the sharp pain from his self-inflicted injury held him back.


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    "What kind of being are you? What do you want here?" he demanded in a fearful voice.


    "Don¡¯t you remember me? Have you forgotten our conversations?" the creature asked, extending its arms in a theatrical gesture of perplexity.


    The initial confusion in Thamuz began to clear as fragments of memory surfaced from the depths of his mind. The visions, the conversations, the promises¡­ everything was beginning to take on a horrible clarity.


    "No... it¡¯s impossible. I thought it had all been a nightmare, just an illusion," he murmured, gradually lowering his guard.


    "Technically, our encounters took place on the dream plane," the demon explained, intertwining its bony fingers. "But thanks to the considerable amount of power you''ve absorbed, I can now manifest before you in the physical world."


    "Absorbed? I haven¡¯t absorbed anything," Thamuz protested indignantly.


    "Oh, really? Then how would you explain what you just did to your father?" the demon questioned, its eyes blazing like burning embers.


    The creature''s piercing gaze struck Thamuz like an icy dagger. He looked down at his right hand, which still seemed to move with a will of its own, and the horrible reality began to take shape.


    ¡°No¡­ it can¡¯t be. You really did it¡± Thamuz murmured, horror growing in his voice.


    ¡°Precisely,¡± the demon confirmed with a malicious smile. ¡°We had an agreement, remember?¡± Its sarcastic tone echoed in the room like the hiss of a snake.


    ¡°This is all my fault,¡± Thamuz spat bitterly. ¡°What I did to my father was because I accepted your damned deal. I don¡¯t want it anymore! Make it disappear!¡±


    ¡°Disappear?¡± The demon let out a dry laugh. ¡°Why waste such a gift? The absorbing power of your right hand is just beginning to manifest. Removing it would be¡­ a regrettable setback.¡±


    With a desperation-born resolve, Thamuz raised his left arm above his head, positioning his hand like a blade over his right wrist.


    ¡°If you refuse to take it away, I¡¯ll do it myself!¡± he roared, his voice trembling with both fury and terror. ¡°I¡¯d rather sever my own hand than hurt my family again!¡±


    The demon¡¯s eyes widened at this declaration, retreating until it melded into the shadows in the darkest corner of the room. Only its crimson eyes remained visible, glowing with an unnatural intensity.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± the creature taunted him. ¡°If you dare.¡±


    Doubt paralyzed Thamuz momentarily as his mind vividly replayed recent events: the look of horror on his father¡¯s face as life slipped away from him, the heart-wrenching anguish in his mother¡¯s eyes¡­ all because of this cursed limb that no longer felt like his own.


    With a cry that came from the deepest part of his being, Thamuz brought his hand down violently. But inches from his target, an invisible force stopped his motion. No matter how hard he struggled, his body would not respond, and he finally collapsed onto the soaked floor.


    ¡°It seems you also forgot another crucial detail,¡± the demon¡¯s voice dripped with satisfaction as it raised a bony hand. ¡°I can control your body from within. Right now, I am contracting each of your muscles in the most painful way possible¡­ so much so that you can¡¯t even scream.¡±


    The terrible truth manifested in Thamuz¡¯s body: his muscles twisted beneath his skin like frenzied serpents, while his throat tightened, denying him even the release of a scream.


    The sound of footsteps approaching down the corridor shattered the macabre moment. The demon dissipated into the air like black smoke, releasing Thamuz from its torturous grip.


    The door opened with a creak, revealing Aolani holding a handful of bandages and a glass brimming with bandamena water. Her face lit up with a motherly smile, cruelly contrasting with the horror that had just transpired.


    "Hello, son, how are you feeling?" Aolani asked gently, raising the bandages like a peace offering.


    Thamuz, still recovering from the ghostly pain that gripped his muscles, barely managed to lift his head to see his mother approaching. In a burst of panic, he scrambled up, backing away as he extended his left hand in a desperate gesture of warning.


    "Don¡¯t come any closer, mother!" he pleaded, his voice breaking with anguish. "I don¡¯t want to hurt you."


    Aolani froze at her son¡¯s heartbreaking plea as he continued to retreat until his back hit the cold wall. In a protective move, he hid his right arm behind his body as if it were a deadly weapon.


    "I don¡¯t want to hurt you, I don¡¯t want to hurt you, I don¡¯t want to hurt you," he repeated like a desperate mantra, covering his face with his left hand.


    His sobs began to fill the room, a harrowing cry that revealed all the anguish and terror consuming him. Aolani¡¯s heart ached at her son¡¯s suffering. Without hesitation, she moved closer, kneeling to meet him at eye level, trying to catch his gaze.


    "Calm down, my child. I¡¯m here with you," she whispered gently as she softly stroked his hair.


    The maternal touch began to take effect, like an invisible balm slowly easing the tension in his body. Thamuz lifted his gaze, meeting his mother¡¯s eyes, which were overflowing with love and understanding.


    Though tears continued streaming down his cheeks, his breathing began to steady as he wiped his face with a trembling hand.


    "How is father?" he asked in a hoarse voice.


    "He¡¯s recovering," Aolani replied, a faint smile on her face. "Armesto helped him back to the rooms and gave him an entire barrel of bandamenas water. You should have seen it¡ªhe lifted that barrel like it weighed nothing, and your father drank as if he were a parched creature."


    The image drew a faint laugh from Thamuz, momentarily dispelling the heavy atmosphere. Aolani seized that moment of calm to prepare the bandages she had brought.


    "Let me see your right arm, son," she asked softly, extending her hand.


    Instantly, panic returned to Thamuz¡¯s face as he drew his cursed arm further back. Aolani, sensing his fear, approached with even more care.


    "Listen to me, dear," she said in a firm yet gentle tone. "Armesto has limited reserves of bandamenas water; we can¡¯t fill the tub for your recovery. I need to bandage your arm to help you heal. Please, let me help you."


    Aolani¡¯s maternal insistence echoed in Thamuz''s mind like hammer blows of conscience. The worry and love in her voice finally broke down his last barriers, and, with slow, cautious movements, he began to extend his right arm.


    To his surprise, the hand that moments before seemed to possess a life of its own was now still, as if it had never been the instrument of that horrifying display of power.


    Aolani took his arm gently, and a faint whimper of pain escaped Thamuz as her fingers brushed against the dislocated epicondyle. With precise movements, she began pouring the bandamenas water over the injured area, massaging softly to help the healing liquid absorb.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t... aren¡¯t you afraid of me?¡± Thamuz whispered fearfully. ¡°After what I did to father?¡±


    Aolani paused, looking up at her son as she exhaled deeply. She resumed her task, wrapping Thamuz¡¯s shoulder and arm with the bandages in steady, methodical motions.


    ¡°Of course I felt fear,¡± she admitted calmly. ¡°Seeing your father on the brink, witnessing that crimson light consuming the room... it was terrifying. But fear has no place in a mother¡¯s heart when it comes to caring for her child, that special being who gives meaning to my life and reminds me every day of the gift that is having a family.¡±


    Aolani¡¯s words struck deep in Thamuz¡¯s soul, melting the icy terror that had paralyzed him. New tears, this time of gratitude, rolled down his cheeks.


    ¡°Thank you...¡± he murmured in a broken voice.


    With the bandaging complete, Aolani offered him the remaining bandamenas water. Thamuz drank slowly, feeling the coolness soothe his raw throat.


    ¡°Would you like to go outside for some fresh air?¡± Aolani suggested, standing and extending her hand. ¡°Narek, Armesto, and Yakrare have all been very worried about you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d love to,¡± Thamuz replied, taking her hand for support as he rose.


    Once on his feet, mother and son embraced deeply, exchanging a love and comfort that words could never express. As they separated, they moved toward the door. Aolani stepped forward, leaving it slightly open for her son, but just as Thamuz was about to follow, a chilling whisper froze him in his tracks.


    ¡°The right hand, the most powerful, the most dominant...¡±


    Turning, Thamuz spotted the silhouette of the demon lingering in the shadows, barely visible but unmistakably present. The creature held its right hand aloft in a gesture of cruel mockery.

 Chapter 31: maximum speed

    Armesto was seated at a colossal table in his courtyard, savoring an infusion of aromatic herbs while contemplating the cosmic spectacle unfolding on the horizon.


    Prismatic waves of light serpentined across the sky, performing a majestic dance that rivaled the most elegant courtly ballets. The stars seemed to come alive in the firmament, serving as a backdrop for the imposing spaceship descending from the atmosphere towards distant realms. The largest of them all, a floating fortress of metal and light, was heading directly towards his city.


    ¡°How efficient they¡¯ve been in bringing goods from other worlds,¡± Armesto reflected. ¡°I hope to find some items of exceptional quality for Yakrare and Narek. Perhaps I might also secure something special for Tawnylon and his family,¡± he mused in his thoughts.


    His meditation was interrupted by the contrasting sounds of two types of footsteps approaching: one heavy and resounding, like the echo of a war drum, and the other light, reminiscent of the gentle patter of rain on crystal leaves.


    ¡°Hello, Armesto. What are you doing here all by yourself?¡± asked a feminine voice as it drew near.


    Turning around, Armesto recognized Aolani and Thamuz. His gaze settled on the latter, noticing significant changes: not only had he gained in height, but he was now wearing a sling that supported one of his muscular arms.


    ¡°I''m glad to see Thamuz is recovering so quickly,¡± Armesto commented, his eyes lingering on the young warrior.


    Aolani took a seat next to Armesto, while Thamuz, due to his imposing build and height, chose to settle on the ground. Even so, his head was level with the other two.


    ¡°Tell me, Thamuz, are you aware that you emerged victorious in your third shamonak combat?¡± Armesto asked, taking a sip of his infusion.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. The final moments of the fight have vanished from my memory. It must have been an intense battle,¡± Thamuz replied, raising his gaze to the multicolored horizon.


    Armesto exchanged a meaningful look with Aolani, who nodded slightly before fixing her eyes on Thamuz.


    ¡°Thamuz... have you heard about the fate of your opponent?¡± Armesto inquired, gently setting his cup aside.


    ¡°Bhaxmunt? I have no idea. As I mentioned, the outcome of the fight is a mystery to me,¡± Thamuz answered, turning his face towards Armesto.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be direct with you, no beating around the bush: you killed your rival, Bhaxmunt exilias. And you did it in a... grotesque way.¡±


    A deathly silence fell over the scene as Thamuz processed the information. Seconds stretched into eternal minutes until, finally, he raised his gaze, locking his eyes onto Armesto''s with a disturbing intensity.


    ¡°How did I kill him?¡± he asked, his voice so cold it seemed to freeze the air around them.


    Aolani shuddered at the iciness in her son''s voice. Even Armesto, seasoned by years of experience, felt a chill run down his spine. Nervously, he reclaimed his cup and began swirling his pinky in the liquid, as if searching for the right words.


    ¡°During the fight, Bhaxmunt delivered a heart-shatter straight to your chest. Your body froze instantly. Your mother¡¯s scream echoed through the stadium, and your father... your father looked like a beast ready to tear through the arena. But then, when Bhaxmunt let his guard down, it was as if you¡¯d resurrected. You grabbed his head in your hands and...¡± Armesto paused, trying to soften what came next, ¡°you compressed it until... it exploded. His remains scattered across the arena.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s what happened,¡± Thamuz responded, maintaining that chilling tone that froze the blood.


    ¡°Son...¡± Aolani¡¯s voice trembled, ¡°you just took a life, the life of someone like you. Does that not affect you at all? Doesn¡¯t it make you reflect?¡±


    ¡°In truth, he was also after my death. I didn¡¯t know him; there was no bond between us. Besides, Mother, you yourself witnessed how he massacred and bled me out during the fight,¡± Thamuz replied, casting a piercing look at his mother.


    Aolani was left paralyzed by her son¡¯s response. She looked to Armesto, finding a slight smile on his face that she couldn¡¯t interpret.


    ¡°I understand your point, but... that coldness of yours terrifies me. It¡¯s... chilling,¡± Aolani whispered, shifting her gaze toward the multicolored horizon.


    ¡°He¡¯s beginning to understand the nature of these lands,¡± Armesto interjected with laughter. ¡°When someone threatens your life, the most sensible thing is to get ahead of their intentions.¡±


    Aolani smacked him on the shoulder, indignant at his comment. Armesto laughed harder as he rubbed the spot where she¡¯d struck him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to that nonsense, son. Even if there¡¯s some truth to it, that doesn¡¯t justify eliminating anyone who displeases you or shows you hostility,¡± Aolani explained, gently stroking Thamuz¡¯s head.


    ¡°That would make me a killer,¡± he replied, gently brushing his mother¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Precisely. Although...¡± Armesto placed his empty cup on the table. ¡°There¡¯s something about the way Bhaxmunt¡¯s death happened that intrigues me deeply.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Aolani asked, unsettled by the enigmatic tone in his words.


    ¡°You see,¡± Armesto began, leaning forward, ¡°the heartshatter is a technique used only by the desperate as a last resort when they haven¡¯t dedicated themselves to mastering it. Essentially, it¡¯s a blow to the heart, but its execution...¡± he paused dramatically, ¡°it¡¯s as if an invisible spear pierces through you. The key is proximity: the fist must be practically fused with the opponent¡¯s chest. It¡¯s a technique with minimal reach but devastating power. Autopsies of its victims reveal hearts completely pulverized.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s so intriguing about that?¡± Aolani questioned, crossing her arms with skepticism. ¡°It sounds like a lethal shamonak technique, but nothing extraordinary to deserve so much attention.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not the technique itself that unsettles me,¡± Armesto replied, mirroring her posture, ¡°but rather what happened when Bhaxmunt used it on Thamuz.¡±


    ¡°Now that you mention it...¡± Thamuz interjected, turning his face towards Armesto. ¡°I remember fragments of that moment. Bhaxmunt attacked me with lightning speed while I withstood his blows. His strange finger strikes were particularly painful. Then, I felt something sharp pierce my heart, and after that... only darkness.¡±


    Armesto intertwined his fingers, studying Thamuz intently.


    ¡°The technique worked perfectly. You should be dead. Yet, not only did you survive, but you found the strength to counterattack brutally. Even when Bhaxmunt tried to pierce your abdomen with his hands, they shattered on contact, as if your body had transformed into living steel.¡±


    ¡°It must be a miracle from Azhamat,¡± Aolani interjected fervently. ¡°The god granted Thamuz the strength to survive and prevail.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps...¡± Armesto murmured, raising his gaze to the heavens. ¡°Or maybe it was something more powerful than Azhamat. It¡¯s hard for me to believe that the god of life would grant so much destructive power to a mortal. If that were the case, it would mean that Azhamat has... changed.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± Aolani protested, her voice trembling with indignation. ¡°Azhamat is unchanging. The god of life exists to ensure the well-being and fullness of his creation.¡±


    A heavy silence settled between them as Armesto¡¯s words hung in the air, laden with disturbing implications. It was Thamuz who finally broke the tension with a question that seemed to come from nowhere:


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    ¡°How is my father?¡±


    ¡°Oh, Tawnylon...¡± Armesto let out a small laugh. ¡°He''s lying down, snoring like a beast. Better to leave him be¡ªhe¡¯ll need plenty of time to recover.¡±


    ¡°After everything that happened, I¡¯m not surprised he needs a long rest,¡± added Aolani with concern.


    After several minutes of silent contemplation, Thamuz carefully stood up, distractedly brushing the dust that had accumulated on his legs.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°Mr. Armesto, where¡¯s Narek?¡± he asked, scratching his head with his left hand, the only one he could move freely.


    Armesto pointed towards the cityscape, where the colossal spaceship was descending with majestic slowness over the city''s edge.


    ¡°He went with Berkam to get a closer look at that,¡± he replied, lowering his hand.


    ¡°What is that immense thing?¡± Thamuz¡¯s eyes shone with awe at the magnificence of the machine.


    ¡°It¡¯s a spaceship,¡± Armesto explained. ¡°Imagine a giant metal bird that transports people and goods between different planets.¡±


    ¡°Are there... other planets?¡± Thamuz¡¯s voice betrayed his disbelief.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know?¡± Armesto raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.


    ¡°No... I had no idea,¡± Thamuz replied, marveling at this revelation.


    ¡°Well...¡± Armesto cast an inquisitive look at Aolani. ¡°What kind of education have you been giving him?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s only six years old,¡± Aolani defended herself, a slight trace of embarrassment in her voice. ¡°With everything we''ve been through, we haven''t been able to give him a proper education.¡±


    ¡°Understandable,¡± Armesto conceded, turning to Thamuz. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go to the city? You might find Narek and Berkam near where the spaceship lands.¡±


    ¡°To the city?¡± Aolani protested, holding protectively onto her son''s good arm. ¡°He has a broken arm and is barely recovering! It¡¯s not wise.¡±


    ¡°Think carefully, Aolani,¡± Armesto replied firmly. ¡°When will he get the chance to see a spaceship of this magnitude again? Besides, what will he do when he has to face life with more than just a broken arm? He¡¯s six years old, yes, but he needs to build independence. Overprotection won¡¯t do him any favors.¡±


    Armesto''s words struck Aolani with the weight of truth. After a moment of reflection, she looked directly into her son¡¯s eyes, searching for the answer she feared to find.


    ¡°Do you really want to go back to the city?¡± Aolani asked softly.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Thamuz answered, barely containing his excitement. ¡°The first time I went with Narek was amazing¡ªthe food, the fights, the music¡­ everything. I¡¯d love to experience that again.¡±


    ¡°Go get changed then,¡± said Armesto, rising with his cup in hand. ¡°Yakrare has prepared appropriate clothes for you in your room. You can¡¯t go wandering around half-dressed.¡±


    ¡°Thank you so much, Mr. Armesto,¡± Thamuz replied with sincere gratitude.


    As Armesto headed to the kitchen, mother and son started up the stairs. Aolani guided Thamuz carefully, holding onto his uninjured arm to support him with each step.


    When they reached the hallway on the second floor, a faint but unmistakable sound caught Thamuz¡¯s attention: labored breathing. Following the sound, he approached one of the slightly open doors, and what he saw squeezed his heart.


    Tawnylon lay in the bed, unrecognizable. His body, once strong and robust, had dwindled to a skeletal figure fighting for every breath. The sheets covering him quivered with each labored rise and fall of his chest, like leaves stirred by a feeble wind.


    ¡°Come, son,¡± Aolani whispered gently, holding his arm with soft reassurance. ¡°I promise he will recover.¡±


    They continued to Thamuz¡¯s room, where a set of new clothes lay on the wide bed. With his good hand, Thamuz began examining each piece, appreciating every detail.


    ¡°They¡¯re magnificent,¡± he murmured in admiration.


    ¡°Armesto chose them with you in mind, although¡­¡± Aolani gave him a critical once-over, ¡°it seems you¡¯ve grown more than we anticipated. They might be a bit snug.¡±


    Sitting on the edge of the bed, Aolani watched proudly as her son dressed. The sturdy pants had an extended back, resembling traditional combat attire.


    The rustic shirt, however, posed a greater challenge. Despite their combined efforts, Thamuz¡¯s injured arm and his increased size caused an inevitable tear in the fabric as they tried to fit him into it.


    The bracelets, impressive pieces of craftsmanship, adorned his forearms, though his right one required extra care and patience to put on.


    At last, Thamuz turned to the mirror, examining his new appearance. The reflection revealed the image of a budding warrior, despite his tender age.


    ¡°You look magnificent, my son,¡± Aolani declared, her eyes bright with maternal pride.


    ¡°Thank you,mom¡± Thamuz replied, his genuine smile lighting up the room.


    The scent of spices guided them downstairs, where sounds of activity came from the kitchen.


    ¡°I wonder what he¡¯s cooking,¡± Aolani murmured curiously.


    Entering the kitchen, they found Armesto intently focused on a colossal pot, stirring its contents with expert motions. He lifted a spoon to taste the brew, his expression critical.


    ¡°It needs a touch more sweetness,¡± he muttered to himself.


    ¡°What are you making, Armesto?¡± Aolani asked, stepping further inside.


    ¡°My special Tumek stew,¡± he replied, his eyes still on the pot. ¡°I¡¯ve used every part to maximize its healing properties.¡±


    ¡°Who is it for?¡± Thamuz inquired.


    ¡°For your father,¡± Armesto sprinkled aromatic herbs over the bubbling liquid. ¡°You saw him upstairs, didn¡¯t you? This stew has the power to restore his old vitality.¡±


    ¡°I hope so¡­¡± Aolani whispered, her voice tinged with worry.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, his spirit will lift as soon as he smells it. Ah, Thamuz,¡± Armesto added, ¡°you¡¯ll find your payment on the table. Despite¡­ the outcome of your match, the reward is greater than before.¡±


    Mother and son returned to the main room, where a large bag of pamtan coins awaited on the table. Aolani¡¯s eyes widened at the sight.


    ¡°By Azhamat! Look at the size of that bag!¡± she exclaimed, marveling.


    ¡°Armesto wasn¡¯t exaggerating,¡± Thamuz confirmed.


    With his good hand, he tried lifting the bag, but its weight forced him to set it back down. Opening it, he took out the coins: five radiant red pamtans and fifteen green ones, each gleaming under the light.


    ¡°I won¡¯t be able to carry all this around the city,¡± Thamuz considered. ¡°Could you store it in my room, Mom?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± she answered, stretching out her arms.


    As she took the bag, her arms trembled slightly, but she held firm, gripping the small treasure with determination.


    ¡°Put it under my bed, with the other bags Armesto has given me,¡± Thamuz instructed.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t spent any of it?¡± Aolani asked, surprised. ¡°I thought you would have by now.¡±


    ¡°No¡° Thamuz gently stroked his mother¡¯s head. "I¡¯m saving it for when we return home. I want to buy animals, build a farm, a bigger house¡­ invest everything in our family.¡±


    ¡°My son¡­¡± Aolani¡¯s eyes glistened with emotion. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Thamuz leaned down to kiss his mother¡¯s forehead in farewell. Aolani, standing on her toes, returned the gesture, barely reaching his forehead due to her son¡¯s growing height.


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    With one last loving gesture, Thamuz said goodbye to his mother. His footsteps echoed heavily as he crossed the vast plains of Zarakel¡¯s estate, until he reached that imposing ancestral stone gate, towering majestically, marking the boundary of the territory.


    With difficulty, due to his dislocated arm throbbing with a dull ache, he repeated the ritual of turning the heavy wheel to open the gate. The smoothed stone groaned under his hands as he left the domains of Armesto, venturing into the outside world.


    The solitude of the road greeted him like a silent blanket. The minutes dragged on with unbearable slowness as he waited for any carriage to appear and take him toward the city. Twenty minutes. Thirty. Fifty. A full hour passed without any means of transportation crossing that desolate landscape.


    Then he heard it¡ªthe voice he had come to know so well.


    "I see you¡¯re a bit stranded on your way,¡± the demon¡¯s voice slid into his mind like drops of water, familiar and disturbing at once.


    This time, Thamuz didn¡¯t feel the usual terror, only a deep irritation at having to deal with that supernatural presence.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯ve forgotten what you did in that room,¡± Thamuz said, his voice filled with resentment.


    ¡°It was my rightful claim,¡± the demon responded, sarcasm and cruelty lacing his tone. "You can¡¯t break a contract unilaterally. Both parties must agree to dissolve it.¡±


    ¡°What do you want from me now? Have you come just to torment me while I wait?¡± Thamuz¡¯s irritation was palpable in every word.


    ¡°Carriage? Here?¡± The demon let out a harsh laugh. ¡°You¡¯re a complete fool. I saw through your eyes as that spaceship descended from the sky, landing on the city outskirts as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Do you really expect there to be carriages available? Every inhabitant will be gathered there, marveling at such a sight.¡±


    ¡°What could you possibly know about this? You seem to be here just to annoy me,¡± Thamuz ran a hand through his hair in frustration.


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    "I know more than your mortal mind can comprehend," the demon''s voice took on an ancestral tone. "I existed before this planet, before this galaxy, before this universe itself. My knowledge surpasses by eons that of someone who has barely lived six years."


    "Now you''re just boasting," Thamuz replied with disdain. "What use is all that antiquity if you ended up trapped in my body?"


    The demon tried to respond, but something interrupted it. Its form materialized before Thamuz: a cadaverous head crowned with twisted horns and skeletal hands that seemed capable of tearing the very air.


    "That''s a valid argument, I won''t deny it," conceded the demon, its eyes burning like embers. "But enough of this dispute. Do you want help getting to the city? Now that I can perceive the outside world, I''m intrigued to see that place with my own eyes."


    Thamuz watched in awe the demon''s manifestation, nervously scanning the surroundings, but only the silence of the wasteland accompanied them.


    "What do you propose?" he asked, his curiosity momentarily overcoming his distrust.


    "As I''ve explained before, I can control every aspect of your body, even its limits... and surpass them," the demon explained. "Do you need to get to the city as soon as possible, right?"


    "As soon as possible," Thamuz confirmed.


    "Good. Adopt the running position, but don''t move until I tell you to," the demon ordered, vanishing into the air like black smoke.


    Although the distrust was still present, Thamuz decided to take the risk. He positioned himself, feeling the earth beneath his feet.


    "And now what?" he inquired, tense.


    "Just... close your eyes," the demon whispered.


    Thamuz reluctantly obeyed. Immediately, he felt his body beginning to transform: his heart pounded against his ribs, his muscles tensed like steel cables, his lungs worked like engines, and a metallic taste flooded his mouth.


    "Now... run. Run as if it were the first and last time in your life."


    Opening his eyes, Thamuz launched himself forward with superhuman strength. His figure vanished into the air like a mirage, leaving in his wake a trail of scorched vegetation. The air roared in his ears as his body bent space at an impossible speed, the friction threatening to ignite the air around him.


    As suddenly as it had begun, he stopped. He doubled over, supporting his left hand on his knee, panting as if he had crossed continents in seconds. When he finally raised his gaze, there it was: the majestic city of Andraxius stood before him, as imposing and mysterious as the first time he had laid eyes on it, its silver towers brushing the evening sky.

 Chapter 32: something i have never seen before

    "What was that?" asked Thamuz, as the rays of the morning sun bathed his sweaty face.


    "I temporarily broke all the limits of your body to make you reach your maximum displacement speed. To be precise, five times the speed of sound," the demon replied with a raspy voice from the depths of Thamuz''s mind.


    "The speed of what?" Thamuz inquired, feeling his trembling legs as a sharp pain began piercing through them like burning needles.


    "It doesn''t matter. I simply made you run at an extraordinary speed, but if we had stayed in that state a few seconds longer, your legs would have exploded from surpassing their mortal limits," the demon explained, materializing in front of Thamuz as an ethereal shadow that gazed out over the city.


    Thamuz moved forward with difficulty, his muscles protesting with every step. He staggered as he approached the demon''s side, where the view of the city unfolded before them like a tapestry of stone and life.


    "It truly is a beautiful city, brimming with life, hope, and growth," murmured the demon, extending a skeletal hand toward the urban landscape. "Boom."


    Thamuz watched as the demon clenched his hand with restrained violence, raising it toward the sky in a gesture of power.


    "If only I had the strength to absorb this entire city¡ªevery life and every essence¡ªI could recover even a fraction of my power... enough to obliterate all existence in this filthy, decaying galaxy," declared the demon, lifting his other arm grandiosely.


    Thamuz glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, grinding his teeth as he began to make his way toward the city.


    The demon, noticing his gesture, floated behind him with a mocking air.


    "Don''t grind your teeth like that. It''s disrespectful," he said slowly.


    "Whatever. Since we met, all you talk about is destruction and death. Don''t you know anything else?" Thamuz asked, turning his head slightly.


    "No. My existence has always been like this. Since my birth at the dawn of time, I have only known destruction and violence. I suppose it''s in my nature."


    They continued on their way as carriages laden with exotic goods and delicacies passed by, heading toward the city. The drivers, lost in their thoughts, seemed to look straight through Thamuz, but what truly unsettled him was their complete indifference to the floating skull and skeletal arms accompanying him.


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    "So, only I can see you?" asked Thamuz, keeping his gaze fixed on the horizon.


    "That''s right, only you. No one else can perceive my presence... unless you wish to absorb much more energy so that I can fully manifest in this world," the demon explained, his final words laced with barely contained sadism.


    "I''d rather die than do something like that again. I almost killed my father... do you think I''d want to do the same to an innocent person?" Thamuz protested, pointing at his right arm with a gesture heavy with bitterness.


    "It''s only a matter of time before you discover how magnificent the power of absorption truly is. It''s an absolute addiction," the demon replied, fading into the air like a dark mist.


    Thamuz continued on his way, relieved that the cosmic abomination seemed to have momentarily vanished from his existence, until he felt himself stumble over something small.


    Looking down, he saw an old man sprawled on the ground. The man''s hair was completely white, with a thick silver beard that reached his neck. He wore a brown robe, frayed with age, and his forehead bore sizable horns in proportion to his body. But his most striking feature was the absence of eyes, replaced by a linear scar running across his face.


    "Oh, sir, I¡¯m so sorry! Let me help you!" Thamuz exclaimed, overcome with guilt.


    Gently, he held the old man by the shoulder and helped him to his feet, brushing off his clothes as he did. The man coughed and trembled slightly.


    "Thank you, young man," said the old man softly. "I believe I tripped over a large stone that made me fall along with my belongings."


    "Yes, I saw you trip hard," lied Thamuz, ashamed to be the true cause of the accident. "By the way, what belongings are you referring to?"


    "My belongings, a large black cloth bag. It must be nearby," the old man replied, attempting to orient himself despite his blindness.


    Thamuz scanned the surroundings until he spotted the bag off the path. He quickly went to retrieve it.


    "Is this it?" he asked, returning to the old man.


    The man moved closer, guided by Thamuz¡¯s voice, and extended his wrinkled hands to feel the black fabric of the bag.


    "Yes, that''s the one. Thank you so much," the old man replied with genuine joy.


    "Where are you headed, sir?" Thamuz asked.


    "I¡¯m on my way to the city of Andraxius. Am I going the right way? It''s been a long time since life took away the beautiful gift of sight," the old man replied, a serene smile gracing his wrinkle-lined face.


    "Yes, actually, we¡¯re going the same way. Would you like me to carry your belongings? You could probably use some rest," Thamuz offered, returning the old man¡¯s smile even though he couldn¡¯t see it.


    "Really? Thank you so much, young man. That would mean a lot to these old shoulders," the old man said with gratitude.


    Thamuz slung the bag over his left shoulder, surprised by its considerable weight. He couldn¡¯t help but admire the old man¡¯s resilience, imagining the long journey he must have undertaken carrying such a burden.


    "Let¡¯s go; we¡¯re only a few meters from the city gates," Thamuz indicated, starting forward.


    The old man walked beside him, his cautious but firm steps guided by the echo of Thamuz¡¯s heavy footfalls¡ªa beacon in his perpetual darkness.


    "Tell me, young man, what is your name?" the old man asked, clasping his hands behind his back in a solemn gesture.


    "My name is Thamuz. And you, sir?" Thamuz replied, glancing at his companion.


    "I am Vixkard, Vixkard Tademus," the old man responded, turning his face toward the source of Thamuz¡¯s voice.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Vixkard... That sounds like a powerful name," Thamuz remarked, genuinely impressed.


    "Thank you, I truly appreciate that," Vixkard replied warmly.


    They arrived at the city gates, colossal structures that seemed to scrape the clouds. Thamuz approached and rapped his knuckles against the immense surface. A small hatch slid open, revealing a pair of green eyes that scrutinized the peculiar duo: a blind old man and a demon of towering proportions.


    "Who are you?" came the voice from behind the hatch.


    "I am Thamuz," he answered.


    "I am Vixkard."


    "Ah, we weren¡¯t expecting you to arrive so soon. Come in, please," the guard replied, addressing Vixkard.


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    To Thamuz''s surprise, instead of the doors opening, the ground before them split apart, revealing an underground passage with descending stairs.


    "I thought they would open the doors," commented Thamuz, amazed.


    "The doors are just additional defense against invaders or war. The only way to enter is through this passage or by the bridge reserved for carriages and special cargo," explained Vixkard, heading towards the opening.


    They descended the stairs, entering the darkness of the tunnel.


    "I can''t see anything," muttered Thamuz, squinting his eyes.


    "Neither can I," responded Vixkard with mordant humor.


    Suddenly, dozens of torches lit up simultaneously, revealing an imposing scene: soldiers in gleaming armor guarded the passage, holding chained beasts that stirred restlessly. A soldier approached with a stern expression.


    "Come, I''ll guide you," he ordered, turning his back to them.


    They followed the soldier while the others remained at their posts, motionless as statues, while the chained creatures moved nervously, as if anticipating an invisible signal.


    At the end of the passage, heavy curtains filtered the outside light, marking the entrance to the city. Thamuz took the first step, being greeted by a fresh breeze that carried the aromas of the market and the warmth of the sun.


    He turned to see the soldier whispering something in Vixkard''s ear, who nodded with a wide smile and raised his thumb in agreement.


    Vixkard positioned himself next to Thamuz, appreciating with his other senses what his eyes couldn''t see, and exhaled deeply while crossing his arms.


    "Well, it seems we''ve both reached our destination," he said, turning his face towards Thamuz. "Thank you for your help, you can return my luggage now."


    Thamuz nodded and carefully placed the black bag on the ground. Vixkard approached, briefly hugged his luggage and lifted it with evident effort onto his shoulders.


    "Hey, if you want I can carry your luggage to wherever you''re going," offered Thamuz, concerned about the old man''s visible effort.


    "No, don''t worry, there''s still strength in these little arms," responded Vixkard, beginning to walk while turning his head towards where he perceived Thamuz to be. "Until we meet again, young Thamuz."


    Thamuz raised his hand in farewell, aware that the gesture would go unnoticed by the old man. He exhaled softly and raised his face to the sky, allowing the sun''s rays to bathe him in their warmth.


    "Well, it''s time to fulfill my objective: reach that gigantic ship and meet with Narek and Berkam," he muttered, adjusting his sling while suppressing a grunt of pain from his dislocated right arm.


    He ventured into the streets, merging with the river of people flowing through the city. The colorful attire of the citizens created a visual spectacle that made his dark figure stand out even more, like an ink stain on a multicolored canvas.


    Passersby would momentarily stop to observe him. Some recognized him from his previous shamonak fights against bhogtan, khabixan, and Bhaxmunt, while others contemplated with amazement his unique features.


    His horns, more prominent than those of any local inhabitant, his enormous stature, his skin black as the deepest abyss, his sharp teeth that fascinated those who saw them, and above all, his crimson eyes that seemed to penetrate the soul of whoever dared to hold his gaze.


    Upon reaching the merchant area, Thamuz found himself immersed in a visual feast of exotic goods. His attention stopped at a particular stall where they displayed a gelatinous creature with multiple tentacles, protected by a hard black shell. The vendor, wielding a knife the size of his forearm, cut the tentacles while the creature emitted shrieks of pain.


    The most disturbing part was observing how the tentacles regenerated instantly, only to be severed again. The vendor poured a corrosive liquid over the creature, causing it to emit dense, nauseating smoke.


    Thamuz looked away, feeling a pang of compassion. "They should give it a quick death before cooking it," he thought, uncomfortable with such a display of unnecessary cruelty.


    Continuing his way, he spotted to his left a jar stall attended by a small boy who held one of the containers while announcing his merchandise with youthful enthusiasm.


    Thamuz approached, crouching down to be at eye level with the little merchant. The boy clutched the jar in his hands, visibly intimidated by the imposing figure of the demon who was watching him intently.


    "What do you sell here?" asked Thamuz, trying to soften his naturally intimidating presence.


    "I... I sell jars... with... with powders or spices," stammered the boy, with a growing tremor in his voice.


    "Really? Show me some of your jars," requested Thamuz, making an effort to sketch a smile that would be more reassuring than terrifying.


    The boy nodded and stepped back towards a shelf, from where he extracted several jars containing powders of various colors: red, blue, green, pink, and more shades that glowed faintly under the sunlight.


    "Here you go, sir. I hope you like them," said the little one, offering them to Thamuz.


    Thamuz extended his colossal hand, almost the size of the boy himself, to take the jars. The child, instinctively, covered his face, fearing harm.


    "What are these powders made of?" asked Thamuz, examining with genuine interest the jars resting in his palm.


    The boy slowly lowered the arm protecting his face, watching in amazement as that imposing being showed real curiosity about his products. Gradually, confidence began to replace his fear.


    "They''re aromatic powders, sir. They''re for bathing or perfuming the environment. You can also use them as cologne. Try them if you''d like," explained the boy, noticing how the jars seemed tiny in Thamuz''s immense hand.


    With surprising delicacy, Thamuz uncapped one of the jars and applied a small amount to his wrist. Upon smelling it, he threw his head back, overwhelmed by the intensity of the aroma.


    "It''s very strong," he commented between coughs, covering his mouth with his forearm.


    "Perhaps, but if you dissolve it in a full bathtub, its fragrance will last until nightfall," added the boy, sketching a more confident smile.


    "And the other powders?" inquired Thamuz, carefully resealing the jar.


    "The orange one is made with bunkmat flowers, harvested from the highest peaks. The blue is Nirghota, made with tiny insects that dance on the surface of sacred lakes."


    The boy continued his explanation with growing enthusiasm, his initial fear vanishing with each word as he shared the secrets of his merchandise.


    "So, sir, are you interested in any?" he finally asked, daring to hold Thamuz''s crimson gaze.


    "I''m interested in all of them, actually. If I take the ones you''ve shown me, how much would it be in total?" asked Thamuz, weighing the jars in his hand.


    The boy brought a hand to his chin, meticulously counting with his fingers while evaluating the price.


    "It would be two green pamtan," he declared after his calculation.


    "Only two for all this? You must be joking," questioned Thamuz with disbelief.


    "I haven''t sold anything today and... I don''t want to take advantage of your unfamiliarity with these matters. Two would be more than fine," responded the little one, beginning to pack the jars in a small leather bag.


    Thamuz suddenly stood up, extracted a pamtan bag from his sling and took out a red one, holding it firmly before kneeling again.


    "Extend your hand, friend," he requested with his deep voice.


    The boy hesitated before extending his hands, distrust still visible in his body language. However, all suspicion vanished upon feeling the cold contact in his palm. He lowered his gaze to find a red pamtan gleaming under the sunlight, its crimson sparkles dancing between his fingers.


    Upon looking up, Thamuz had already disappeared into the crowd, taking the leather bag with him. The little one closed his hands around the valuable coin and pressed it against his chest.


    "Thank you, thank you so much, sir," he whispered with a broken voice, though he knew his benefactor could no longer hear him.


    Meanwhile, Thamuz made his way through the crowd, with the bag of aromatic jars secure in his sling and his gaze fixed on the horizon.


    "Look at me, I''m the hero, the symbol of hope," the demon''s mocking voice resonated in his mind. "I gave a small coin to a child and now I feel like the noblest."


    Thamuz ignored the provocation, limiting himself to exhaling softly while closing his eyes. His moment of peace was interrupted by a light but firm touch on his back, like a hand claiming his attention.


    Upon turning, his eyes opened with surprise: there was Korro, the leader of the Steel Fangs, looking at him with a wide smile that contradicted his fearsome reputation.

 Chapter 33: that wasnt something soft

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    Thamuz was impressed upon seeing Korro. He wasn¡¯t wearing the typical attire of the Steel Fangs but instead ordinary clothes like any other citizen in the city.


    "Wow, you actually managed to get out of prison," said Thamuz, genuinely surprised by the sudden visit.


    "Yeah, it took way longer than I expected, but I¡¯m finally here," replied Korro, standing next to Thamuz. "By the way, what happened to your right arm?"


    Thamuz glanced at his arm and immediately understood the question. He raised it so Korro could see it better, flashing an enigmatic smile.


    "I dislocated it myself," he declared, moving the arm with a slight motion.


    "Why? Are you some kind of lunatic or a masochist?" asked Korro, puzzled by the nonchalant response.


    "It''s a bit of a complicated story. I¡¯ll tell you while we walk," Thamuz replied, starting to move and gesturing for Korro to follow.


    They walked through the bustling streets, navigating a labyrinth of street food stalls and artisanal shops. Crowds swirled in every direction, creating a vibrant and chaotic atmosphere.


    Their presence didn¡¯t go unnoticed. Some gazes lingered on them¡ªsome curious, others fearful. Korro, an infamous criminal, strolled as if he were a common citizen, while Thamuz walked beside him with a disconcerting calmness.


    The city guards watched them warily. Though they could have captured Korro right there, Thamuz¡¯s presence deterred them. They remembered his brutal fights in the Shamonak arena and weren¡¯t eager to provoke an unnecessary conflict.


    The townsfolk pretended not to see them, averting their eyes and whistling as they absentmindedly rummaged through their pockets, as though the duo were invisible.


    Eventually, they reached a secluded spot in the city: a small hill overlooking a crystal-clear lake. Tiny marine creatures occasionally surfaced, breaking the smoothness of the water.


    Sitting on the ground, they gazed at each other until Thamuz shifted his focus to the horizon and let out a deep sigh.


    "So, you almost killed your father with your own hand, just by placing it on his chest," Korro remarked, more an observation than a question.


    "Believe what you want," Thamuz replied in a melancholic tone. "My father is still alive, but he¡¯s like a withered tree. I just hope he recovers soon."


    Korro tossed a stone into the lake, momentarily breaking the silence.


    "Did you come here to clear your head?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the water.


    Suddenly, the water began to stir, and a giant red fish emerged, with tentacle-like appendages writhing on its head. It appeared like a menacing predator, disturbed by the stone Korro had thrown. With a gentle splash, it submerged again, disappearing as mysteriously as it had appeared.


    "I came to investigate that gigantic spaceship that landed in the city," explained Thamuz. "I was hoping to meet Narek and Berkam, but I got sidetracked in the market and ended up buying some powders and essences." He pulled a bag of vials from his sling and handed it to Korro.


    Korro took the bag and opened it, carefully examining the vials. His gaze fixed on one filled with orange powder with delicate golden flecks.


    "Wow, you got Eronium. It looks very pure; this will be extremely useful," Korro said, pocketing the vial.


    "What are you doing? I bought that!" protested Thamuz, clearly annoyed by his companion''s actions.


    "Relax, we¡¯re making an exchange," Korro replied. "Besides, you¡¯ll appreciate the Eronium¡¯s use when I show you what I can do with this." He pulled a thick glove surrounded by steel plates from his pocket. "What do you think of this trade?"


    Thamuz took the glove, examined it closely, and struck it against the ground, noting the weight of the metal plates.


    "What is this? Where did you get it?" he asked, intrigued by the object.


    "It¡¯s an armored glove," Korro explained. "Nothing special beyond its metal plating. But considering what you told me about your right hand, it¡¯ll be very useful. You¡¯ll be able to touch things without fear of damaging them. I got it from what used to be the Steel Fangs'' base."


    "What do you mean by ¡®what used to be¡¯? Also, you¡¯re not wearing your gang¡¯s typical attire," Thamuz observed, glancing at him sideways.


    Korro sighed and began his story:


    "When I escaped from prison, I went straight back to the city, to my gang¡¯s base. But when I got there, I discovered there was a new leader. They removed me from my position, saying I caused more problems than I solved, that I preferred creating chaos over handling routine tasks."


    "And what did you do?" Thamuz asked, his curiosity growing.


    "The most sensible thing in that situation," Korro replied with a slight smile. "I killed most of them and burned the base down. The Steel Fangs no longer exist. It''s just me now."


    "Oh... wow..." murmured Thamuz, completely stunned by the revelation.


    Korro stood up, dusted off his clothes, and grabbed another stone, tossing it into the lake. The strange red fish with tentacles emerged again from the crystal waters, its iridescent gaze fixed on him.


    "Well, do you want to get to that spaceship? Follow me; I know a shortcut," Korro said, plunging his hands into the pockets of his worn-out jacket.


    Thamuz stood up from the ground, glancing at the lake where the tentacled fish stared at him with an unsettling intensity.


    "Yes, let''s go before night falls," Thamuz responded, turning on his heels.


    The two ventured into an alley away from the urban bustle. Around them, hooded figures lingered in the shadows while ragged beggars pleaded for coins with vacant stares.


    A hoarse, guttural voice began to materialize in the air:


    "You know, I like this boy much more than the vessel I''m trapped in," murmured the demon, perching on Thamuz''s shoulder.


    "What do you mean?" whispered Thamuz, careful not to attract unwanted attention.


    The demon smirked sinisterly:


    "His freedom to act is admirable. Killing his own gang members, burning down their base after being relieved of his position... He would have been a perfect candidate if I had the strength to possess a body."


    "That would have been perfect for me," Thamuz retorted wearily. "At least then I could enjoy a moment of peace without hearing your voice."


    The demonic entity floated around Thamuz, its outlines blurring like black smoke:


    "Careful what you wish for. If I could, I¡¯d reduce this planet to cosmic dust. Tell me, what is the lord of goodness doing alongside such an impulsive young man?"


    Thamuz pondered for a moment:


    "I¡¯m curious, like you. My parents always surrounded me with love and understanding, while with Korro, everything feels different. It''s as if he shows me the world through other eyes¡ªthose of someone marginalized."


    "Fascinating," the demon remarked. "In the end, one becomes what surrounds them. Do you want to become someone like him? I can teach you a few tricks..."


    "Never," Thamuz declared firmly. "So you can keep waiting until my death."


    The demon chuckled, its voice resonating in the air:


    "Sooner or later, you¡¯ll feel the flow of evil coursing through your veins. It¡¯s only a matter of time... and patience."


    And then, it vanished.


    Thamuz and Korro finally arrived at the site where the spaceship was docked¡ªa spot slightly removed from the city, nestled in rolling green pastures. In the distance, several merchants passed by with their carts or rode imposing mhonktans, beasts of burden carrying heavy equipment.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Look, that spaceship comes from one of the solar systems in the Khan-Bazar galactic system," Korro explained, pointing at the colossal metallic structure. "They usually transport goods, and even slaves, depending on the demand across different planets."


    "Solar systems?" asked Thamuz, a childlike curiosity shining in his eyes. "What exactly are they?"


    Korro smirked ironically:


    "You seriously don¡¯t know? I thought you¡¯d be sharper. A solar system is a set of planets orbiting around a central star, like the sun that warms us with its rays."


    "A friend of my father once mentioned the existence of other planets," Thamuz replied, "but I didn¡¯t know they harbored life. That¡¯s truly amazing!"


    "When you live a life like mine," Korro said with a slight laugh, "you discover that the unimaginable is just a limited perspective. I just wanted to share that knowledge with you."


    They approached the spaceship, which loomed like a metallic colossus. Its size was so immense that it seemed to cover a vast portion of the city walls. It rested on sturdy structures capable of supporting its titanic weight, with an exterior design of a dull, matte gray. Multiple hatches and ramps remained open, revealing its interior.


    The crew was unloading extraordinary cargo: living plants that seemed to breathe, levitating stones emitting multicolored glimmers under the sunlight, and gelatinous creatures covered in eyes that moved with an alien grace.


    The beings making up the crew were markedly different from the Yhamak, the dominant species on Thamuz¡¯s planet. They lacked frontal horns, their skin was a deep purple tone, and they were considerably shorter in stature. They wore lightweight, shiny spacesuits and had disproportionately large eyes, black as the darkest night.


    "Those you see over there," Korro said, lightly tapping Thamuz on the shoulder, "are the Bhulgax. They come from a galactic system different from Khan-Bazar, but they¡¯re incredibly efficient at what they do."


    Thamuz observed the bustling trade with fascination. The Yhamak offered local products: giant jars filled with spices and precious minerals that shifted colors upon touch, as if alive.


    Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupted the atmosphere. Thamuz and Korro turned to see Narek and Berkam approaching.


    "I knew you¡¯d be here," murmured Thamuz, walking toward them.


    Korro followed, shrinking into the imposing shadow of Thamuz, trying to remain unnoticed by the unexpected visitors.


    When Thamuz reached Narek, he extended his hand. The greeting was met with a firm, vigorous handshake.


    "You had me worried," Narek said, his gaze falling to Thamuz¡¯s dislocated arm. "I thought you¡¯d need more time to recover, but you look better than ever. What happened to your arm?"


    Thamuz extended his injured arm. Narek and Berkam examined it with curiosity.


    A subtle movement caught Berkam¡¯s attention. As he scanned the area behind Thamuz, he spotted Korro. His reaction was immediate.


    "What is he doing here?!" Berkam exclaimed, stepping back several paces.


    Narek noticed him too. Korro emerged slowly from behind Thamuz, wearing an enigmatic smile that alarmed both of them.


    "Thamuz, be careful!" Narek warned. "Korro is right behind you!"


    Thamuz turned slightly, meeting Korro¡¯s mocking gaze.


    "You¡¯re scaring my friends," he said calmly. "Step forward and introduce yourself properly."


    Korro nodded, moving forward with deliberate nonchalance. His arms swayed theatrically as he extended a leg and hand in an exaggerated greeting.


    "Hello, Narek and Berkam," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Remember me?"


    Narek glared at him with disdain, gritting his teeth and looking away.


    "How could we forget?" he replied, his voice brimming with irritation.


    "Come on, I know we got off on the worst possible foot," Korro said, shrugging. "But I¡¯m no longer part of the Steel Fangs. In fact, the gang no longer exists. I hope any misunderstandings and conflicts are in the past now."


    "The past?" Berkam protested, stepping forward. "Do you think everything you did to me can just be forgotten? Everything you put me through?"


    "What are you talking about?" Korro asked, crossing his arms.


    Berkam erupted, his voice thick with pain:


    "The sleepless nights because of your malicious antics, the physical punishments I had to endure, the emotional damage you caused me every single day... Do you really think that can just be left in the past? I don¡¯t think so. Luckily, I¡¯ve found someone who truly loves me and treats me like a person," she declared, clutching Narek¡¯s arm.


    "Oh, nice" Korro responded, giving a casual thumbs-up with a carefree smile.


    The simplicity of his response shattered Berkam. Her heart broke into pieces. she collapsed partially to the ground, beginning to sob uncontrollably.


    Narek rubbed her back, glaring at Korro with even more intense disdain.


    "We¡¯re going home," Narek said to Thamuz. "Please be careful with this maniac, and don¡¯t take too long to join us."


    "Goodbye... Narek," Thamuz murmured, watching them walk away.


    "It¡¯s not like I said much," Korro commented.


    "Sometimes a few words are enough to make someone crumble. Interesting," Thamuz reflected, scratching his chin.


    "Come on, let¡¯s not dwell on this. Have you seen everything you wanted?" Korro asked, his hands deep in his pockets.


    "I think so, but I¡¯m still curious to learn more about that spaceship," Thamuz replied, casting one last glance at the vessel.


    "I¡¯ll tell you everything on the way. If you¡¯d like, we can go to my place. It¡¯s not far," Korro suggested, starting to walk.


    "You have a house? I thought your home was your gang¡¯s base," Thamuz inquired.


    "The Steel Fangs owned several properties in the city. They¡¯re all mine now," Korro replied, glancing at him with a sly smile.


    They returned to the bustling city center. As they walked, Korro began explaining:


    "Spaceships serve various purposes. The one we saw is commercial, transporting goods between planets. But there are many types."


    "Like what?" Thamuz asked, intrigued.


    "There are tourist ships that take people anywhere in the universe: planets, asteroids, even stars. Then there are exploration ships designed to investigate the most remote places in the cosmos. But there¡¯s one function that might interest you the most..."


    "Which one?" asked Thamuz, his voice filled with curiosity.


    "The war or conquering ships," Korro replied. "Used by great conquerors in intergalactic crusades. Someone with your abilities and strength could easily become a tremendously powerful conqueror."


    "A conqueror? I don¡¯t know what those are," said Thamuz, watching as they approached a gigantic house at the end of the path.


    Korro explained in detail:


    "A conqueror is someone powerful enough to claim a planet, a star, a solar system, or even an entire galaxy as their own."


    "So, they¡¯re extremely powerful," observed Thamuz. "Who¡¯s the most powerful among them?"


    "According to tales from travelers of other planets, there¡¯s a conqueror named Atlas, nicknamed ''The Golden Reaper,''" Korro responded. "I don¡¯t know why they call him that, but I wouldn¡¯t want to meet him. Fortunately, they say he¡¯s in another universe, trying to conquer it."


    They arrived at the house, leaving Thamuz in awe of its immensity and peculiar decorations. The exterior walls were covered in red triangle symbols with lined edges, and the main door was adorned with horns from various creatures.


    Korro took out a necklace with a small key on it, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door, inviting Thamuz to step inside.


    "Make yourself at home," he said, closing the door behind them.


    The interior revealed an enormous and chaotic space, clearly designed to house hundreds of people. Over twenty rooms stretched across the area, with walls appearing to have been torn apart by incomprehensible forces.


    Thamuz sank into a worn but comforting armchair, watching Korro rummage through a chest full of objects until he found what he was looking for.


    "Finally found you!" Korro exclaimed triumphantly.


    It was a pear-shaped glass pipe with a metallic handle and a small window between the flask''s interior and the mouthpiece. Along with it, he retrieved a crinkly bag that seemed to hold dried ingredients.


    Korro sat across from Thamuz and handed him the pipe. Thamuz examined it, noticing traces of golden dust and black leaves inside.


    "What is this?" he asked, turning the pipe with curiosity.


    "It¡¯s a funadortel," Korro replied, extending his hand. "Come, I¡¯ll show you how to use it."


    Thamuz handed over the pipe, and Korro took out the jar of golden powder they had exchanged earlier. From the bag, he pulled out several dried leaves of an intense orange hue.


    "Look, you insert the Eronium through this window," he explained, demonstrating each step with precision. "Then crush some leaves and place them inside. Now, extend your arm."


    Thamuz complied, slowly extending his left arm. Korro took a wooden matchstick and struck it against Thamuz¡¯s skin, igniting it with friction. He inserted the match into the pipe, beginning to burn the Eronium along with the dry leaves. Closing the window, he waited a few minutes.


    "You need to let all the flavors combine," he said, setting the pipe aside.


    "What¡¯s it for?" asked Thamuz, sinking into the armchair.


    "The funadortel is for fun," Korro replied. "I used it a lot when I led the Steel Fangs."


    Orange smoke began to emerge from the pipe. Korro brought it to his mouth, controlling the smoke''s release with the metallic handle. He inhaled deeply and shut the pipe, then violently turned his head, expelling smoke through his nose. His eyes, now red, fixed on Thamuz.


    "So good," he murmured.


    Moments later, he collapsed unconscious, the pipe still in his hand.


    "Korro? Are you okay?" Thamuz asked.


    Korro remained motionless, exhaling one last wisp of smoke. Thamuz took the pipe, observing it cautiously.


    The demon''s voice echoed in his mind:


    "Go ahead, take a small inhale."


    "Are you crazy? Look what it did to Korro," Thamuz protested.


    "Look at you," the demon insisted. "You¡¯re as strong as an oak compared to that kid. This won¡¯t affect you. Besides, I want to try it too."


    An ethereal hand materialized, grasping the pipe.


    "Fine," Thamuz relented. "Just one puff."


    The smoke entered smoothly, revealing a strange yet sweet flavor. Thamuz inhaled deeply and closed the handle.


    "Wow, you were right. Nothing happened to me¡­"


    Suddenly, his body began to liquefy. His fingers elongated as he watched, astonished, while reality disintegrated around him. Space filled with multicolored points that danced and shifted in size, floating in a dreamlike dimension defying all logic.


    During his hypnagogic trance, he saw a gigantic door standing as a portal to the unknown. He opened it with slow, trembling movements, finding a pink light that drew him like an irresistible magnet. He approached, feeling a spectral warmth that made his skin crawl, crossing the threshold between the real and the surreal.


    Spectral and shadowy figures passed through him without hesitation, their coldness penetrating to his very bones. His wide eyes took in the hostile environment as he heard an eerie creaking that seemed to emanate from the very shadows surrounding him.


    Hours or perhaps eternities passed until Thamuz found himself in an unfamiliar place. He opened his eyes slowly, blinded by sunlight that seemed to pierce through his consciousness. Gradually, he managed to rise to his knees, scanning the strange surroundings.


    He was in what appeared to be a well-kept garden, teeming with life. A small pond hosted aberrant fish with unpredictable movements. To his right, a crumbled wall bore a perfect mark, as if his own body had been the one to destroy it.


    "What happened?" he muttered, his voice a whisper lost in the haze of confusion.


    Suddenly, the metallic sound of hinges broke the silence. Thamuz turned his head, directing his gaze toward a house that loomed behind him. But what truly captured his attention was the figure standing before the open doors.


    "Who¡¯s there?" the figure called, a shiver running down his spine.


    It was Vixkard, holding a worn wooden cup.

 Chapter 34: Beat the rebel

    Thamuz froze instantly when he observed the old blind man, who seemed to be trying to decipher some presence in his yard. With slow and cautious movements, the elder looked around while sipping slowly from a worn wooden cup.


    ¡°Perhaps it''s just some animal hiding among my flowers,¡± he murmured to himself, turning back and heading toward his house.


    Thamuz watched the scene, a drop of sweat sliding down his forehead, falling to the ground, and spreading like a small shiny stain on the green grass. However, his breath stopped when Vixkard slowly turned, as if that drop had revealed his location.


    ¡°That smell,¡± Vixkard declared in a deep voice, ¡°it''s sweat similar to yhamak, not from any animal.¡± His blind eyes seemed to pierce directly through Thamuz.


    In a swift and unexpected movement, the old man raised his wooden cup and hurled it with surprising force. Thamuz, paralyzed by surprise, barely managed to lift his arms as the object struck his chest, eliciting a muffled groan of pain.


    ¡°That voice,¡± Vixkard pronounced slowly, ¡°it sounds familiar. Is that you, young Thamuz?¡± He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer.


    Realizing he could no longer hide, Thamuz stood up, picked up the cup, and approached the old man. With his left hand extended, he slightly bowed his head and offered the cup.


    ¡°I beg your forgiveness, Mr. Vixkard,¡± he murmured in a broken voice. ¡°I shouldn''t be here.¡±


    The tension was palpable as Vixkard studied Thamuz with his sharpened senses. He grabbed the cup and began to examine it as if he still had eyes.


    ¡°It''s curious,¡± the old man reflected, ¡°that you know where I live, despite us barely crossing paths. How did you get here?¡± His voice dripped with confusion.


    Thamuz tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. The memories he was trying to recall were like fragments of a blurry dream, disconnected and hazy.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Vixkard interrupted, raising an eyebrow. ¡°That scent... Is it pure Eronium? And burned, no less? Don''t tell me you''ve been consuming that vile drug in the Funadortel.¡±


    The mention of the word triggered a cascade of memories in Thamuz''s mind, which began to take shape.


    In the distance, a familiar voice broke the tense silence. It was Korro, stumbling toward them and shouting for his friend.


    ¡°Where could he have gone?¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°If he consumed Funadortel, he shouldn''t be wandering around here.¡±


    As he spotted a large hole in a wall, with Thamuz¡¯s silhouette clearly imprinted on it, Korro approached, relieved, not initially noticing Vixkard''s presence. He placed a hand on his friend''s shoulder with a grin.


    ¡°Wow, that Eronium was really strong,¡± he remarked, staring ahead.


    But his cheerful expression froze when he recognized the old man. He took a few steps back, trying to slip away.


    ¡°I have something to do,¡± he stammered, nervously whistling as he attempted to leave.


    Vixkard, however, had no intention of letting him go.


    ¡°That voice!¡± the old man bellowed, throwing his cup once again. It struck the back of Korro¡¯s head with uncanny precision, and he collapsed instantly.


    ¡°Bring your friend and come inside,¡± Vixkard ordered, opening the doors of his house with a dramatic gesture. ¡°We have many things to discuss before you can leave.¡±


    Thamuz nodded and approached Korro, who lay sprawled on the ground with his tongue out and eyes rolled back. Hoisting him onto his shoulder, Thamuz began walking toward Vixkard¡¯s home.


    Once inside, he momentarily lost sight of the old man, but his eyes wandered, marveling at the intricate decorations in the room. The walls were adorned with photographs encased in thick glass, each depicting a burly man of imposing stature. His prominent horns, scarred in numerous places, told tales of battles and past experiences.


    Belts hung neatly from shelves, some adorned with golden buckles and others in a deep navy blue. Rows of shelves were filled with minerals and objects so peculiar that they were utterly unfamiliar to Thamuz.


    ¡°Young Thamuz, this way,¡± Vixkard¡¯s voice called from another room.


    Following the sound, Thamuz found the old man seated on the floor next to a table with three carefully arranged cups.


    ¡°Lay Korro down beside me,¡± Vixkard commanded. ¡°I want to feel him wake up.¡±


    Thamuz placed his unconscious friend next to the old man. Korro was still drooling, a trail of saliva sliding down his chin. Then, Thamuz sat on the other side of the table, crossing his legs.


    "I suppose this fool offered you some of that poison," Vixkard commented, setting his cup on the table. "What a shame."


    "It was out of curiosity," Thamuz replied, picking up a cup and taking a sip of its contents. "By the way, how do you know Korro?"


    Vixkard¡¯s blind eyes seemed to come alive as he began his tale:


    "It¡¯s a long story. This idiot came to me years ago, asking for food or work. Instead of giving him charity, I offered him something better: the chance to become a shamonak fighter."


    "A shamonak fighter?" Thamuz interrupted. "Are you some kind of master?"


    A dry laugh escaped Vixkard¡¯s lips.


    "A master? I was the master of masters. The photos you saw are proof of my achievements. I trained Korro for several days; he was a real promise in the combat arena. But just when he was about to debut in his first fight, he disappeared. I waited for hours until everyone had left. When I returned home, I found it completely empty, save for a note from Korro thanking me for my hospitality."This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "He ended up as a complete coward," Thamuz added, resting his chin on his hand.


    Suddenly, a sensation similar to a relaxing breeze flowed through his dislocated arm. He felt his bones gently realigning themselves.


    "What¡¯s happening to me?" he asked.


    "What you drank from the cup is made from bandamena flowers from my garden," Vixkard explained. "It¡¯s three times more potent than normal ones. I detected your injury when we crossed paths on the way to the city, remember?"


    Thamuz removed the bandages and the rustic sling his mother had made. Stretching his arm, he was astonished to find that he felt no pain at all. He opened and closed his hand with complete ease.


    A fleeting memory of his right hand¡¯s power made him quickly hide his arm behind his back.


    "I remember it very clearly," he replied.


    A groan interrupted their conversation. Korro was beginning to wake up, rubbing the spot where Vixkard had struck him with the cup.


    "What happened to me?" he murmured to himself.


    Upon recognizing Vixkard, a shiver ran down his spine. With a leap, he cowardly hid behind Thamuz.


    "Thamuz, let¡¯s get out of here, please," he pleaded, trembling visibly.


    "Calm down, Korro," Vixkard said in a composed tone. "As long as Thamuz is here, I won¡¯t give you the beating I promised you when you abandoned me. But you¡¯d better control yourself and listen to our conversation." He took another sip from his cup.


    Korro continued to eye Vixkard warily, though the old man seemed surprisingly relaxed despite their turbulent past. Slowly, Korro moved away from Thamuz''s back and sat with them, crossing his legs.


    "So, Mr. Vixkard," Thamuz began with curiosity, "were you truly a shamonak master? From what I''ve seen, you must have been a very powerful figure in your time."


    Vixkard¡¯s blind eyes seemed to gleam with a hint of pride.


    "Of course, I was," he declared. "They called me ¡®the Frantic Catastrophe.¡¯ I had a record of three hundred victories with only seven defeats. I also trained several shamonak legends." His hands moved dramatically, as if recounting an epic tale.


    "Like who?" Thamuz asked, fully engrossed.


    "Have you heard of Armesto Advhentium? I trained him myself. I transformed him from a weak boy into a fighter capable of pushing even the strongest to their limits."


    "Yes, I know him," Thamuz replied enthusiastically. "He''s a friend of my father."


    "And what¡¯s your father¡¯s name?" Vixkard inquired, his curiosity evident.


    "Tawnylon," Thamuz replied.


    A heavy silence fell over the room. Korro looked back and forth between Thamuz and Vixkard, utterly confused by the turn of the conversation.


    "Tawnylon¡­ Gilmesh?" Vixkard asked, his voice laden with seriousness.


    "Is that his surname?" Thamuz responded innocently. "Father never mentioned having one."


    Vixkard seemed lost in thought.


    "I never knew Tawnylon had a son," he murmured. "I knew of his escape with the kingdom¡¯s princess, but I never imagined his descendant would be here." He placed a hand on his head, as if processing the revelation.


    "I¡¯m not alone," Thamuz explained. "We¡¯re staying at Armesto¡¯s house while the shamonak to death tournament takes place. I only have two matches left to finish it and rescue a friend."


    An expression of admiration appeared on Vixkard¡¯s face.


    "So, you¡¯re the famous fighter everyone in the city is talking about," he remarked. "I¡¯m not surprised. After all, you¡¯re Tawnylon¡¯s son. His power runs through your veins."


    "Speaking of that..." Thamuz¡¯s voice turned hesitant. "I¡¯m not really his son, or so I¡¯ve been told."


    "What?" exclaimed Vixkard, completely bewildered. "What do you mean?"


    "My mother told me they found me in a crater, in the middle of a forest," Thamuz explained, finishing the last sip of his drink. "I was just a baby, and my cries could be heard from afar. So my parents decided to adopt me."


    Vixkard gave a cryptic smile.


    "You fell from the sky as if the gods had sent you to our planet?" he remarked. "Even if you don¡¯t share Tawnylon¡¯s blood, you¡¯ve shown extraordinary strength by defeating three opponents in the shamonak to the death tournament." He drank the last sip from his cup and, after a brief pause, added, "If you don¡¯t mind, young Thamuz, may I touch you?"


    "Why?" Thamuz asked, confused.


    Vixkard chuckled softly.


    "As you can see," he said with a hint of irony, "I lack eyes. I must rely on touch and hearing to form a mental image of my surroundings. Your voice tells me you are young and full of energy, but I don¡¯t know what you look like."


    "Oh, I see," replied Thamuz, standing up.


    With slow and deliberate movements, Vixkard rose, orienting himself by Thamuz¡¯s breathing. Korro remained motionless, nervously watching the scene.


    The old man positioned himself in front of Thamuz and extended his hands. With quick and precise touches, he explored the contours of his body: shoulders, biceps, forearms, abdomen, chest, legs, calves. Each contact seemed calculated to avoid making the young man uncomfortable.


    Finally, his hands moved to Thamuz¡¯s face, exploring every feature.


    "The face," he murmured, "is a person¡¯s identity. Without it, we are nothing more than empty vessels before the vastness of the universe."


    His fingers meticulously traced Thamuz¡¯s features¡ªears, forehead, chin, nose, mouth, even his teeth.


    "Interesting," Vixkard reflected. "You have remarkably sharp teeth. And your physique is impressively muscular. Truly, you¡¯ve been fortunate with your genetic heritage, though it¡¯s a pity Tawnylon¡¯s blood doesn¡¯t flow through your veins."


    Having completed his examination, Vixkard stepped back and returned to his previous position. Thamuz, equally composed, glanced around the room.


    "What happens now?" he asked.


    Vixkard responded with a casual wave of his hand.


    "What happens now? Well, you¡¯re free to go. I¡¯m sure your parents are worried about you."


    Thamuz stood up, extending his left hand in gratitude.


    "In that case, I¡¯ll take my leave. Thank you for the bandamenas water."


    Their handshake was peculiar¡ªat first, Vixkard missed Thamuz¡¯s hand entirely, but Thamuz guided their hands together, resulting in a firm and meaningful grip. Vixkard¡¯s expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face.


    "If you¡¯re interested," Vixkard offered, "you¡¯re welcome to visit my quarters. I could teach you about shamonak. My methods may be unconventional, but they could prove useful in certain situations."


    When Thamuz admitted he didn¡¯t know where to find him, the older man provided a solution.


    "Don¡¯t worry. I live in the upper section of the city. I¡¯ll place a giant rock glowing blue as a marker. For now, go home and rest. Oh, and give my regards to Tawnylon. Tell him Vixkard is in the city."


    Thamuz departed, exiting through a wall-sized hole that perfectly matched his silhouette. Back in the room, Vixkard turned his attention to Korro, who nervously fiddled with a wooden cup.


    "You could have been like him," Vixkard said quietly, "if you hadn¡¯t betrayed me. But I don¡¯t blame you. At your age, I was worse¡ªstealing and killing daily just to put food on the table. But then I discovered shamonak, and everything changed."


    His tone darkened, becoming menacing.


    "Ten seconds. Run."


    Korro¡¯s eyes widened in fear. He stumbled toward the exit, panic fueling his clumsy movements. Vixkard began counting down, his voice calm and rhythmic.


    "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one¡­"


    When he reached zero, he hurled the wooden cup against the wall. The cup ricocheted dramatically¡ªceiling, floor, wall¡ªrepeating its chaotic dance until it hovered, suspended midair. In a sudden, precise motion, the cup flew toward Vixkard, who tilted his head slightly. Instead of wounding him, the impact drew a smile. With calculated force, he redirected the cup, striking Korro squarely on the back of the head.


    Korro collapsed near the hole Thamuz had exited through, unconscious.


    "One way or another," Vixkard murmured, crossing his arms, "you will learn shamonak."

 Lore visual drop: the war of the seven bleeding moons

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    In that distant place, where the castle reigned over the destroyed planet, the supervisor sat on a chair made of ancient stone, atop the castle, observing the infinite cosmos that died and was reborn in the abyss of eternal gloom.


    He was stroking a small creature with six limbs and a single eye on its front, accompanied by tough scales and a mouth full of sharp teeth.


    "This is the only rest I have after millions of years of writing," he said to himself.


    For him, millions of years were akin to hours¡ªhours that seemed eternal but recurred endlessly in the texts he wrote, chronicling every detail organized within existence. Texts about conquests, apocalypses, and rebirths¡ªevery event that prompted a story to be inscribed in the vast space of the castle.


    Suddenly, the sound of a shadow approaching from afar was heard, shrill and cold, chilling the bones of anyone unaccustomed to it.


    But the supervisor did not feel that sensation in his body. He set down the creature he was stroking, which began to emit an aura of blue light, floating upward and vanishing into the far reaches of the sky.


    "You again? I suppose you''re here to learn new things about that planet," said the supervisor, rising from his seat.


    The shadow stopped in front of him, towering over him in size, until it resumed the humanoid figure it had shown before in the library.


    "This time, it''s about a conflict¡ªthe war of the seven bleeding moons," said Bhatzeid, still shrouded by traces of shadow covering his humanoid form.


    "Ah, if that''s the case, then we''ll have to go deeper into the library, where I¡¯ve written books about the greatest atrocities and conflicts ever fought in existence," the supervisor affirmed, beginning to walk.


    Bhatzeid followed him as before, until they reached the library, where the supervisor ventured deeper, as if they had walked miles and miles along the way.


    They stopped upon reaching a dark section, distorted by the passage of time. The bookshelves were worn, and small creatures fed on the pages.


    "This is the part I least like to visit, but it¡¯s necessary to write about everything that has happened, even the darkest and most violent events, to remember and strive to prevent them from happening again."


    Then, the supervisor grabbed a gigantic book, encased in a bubble of purple plasma adorned with star-shaped runic symbols.


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    The supervisor raised his hand, and a chair materialized behind him, creating an identical one for Bhatzeid, who sat down and let his shadows spread throughout the space.


    "Alright, page hexasesimacuadruquntuplebilloseptima."


    The stories and conflicts of Aldheran were as numerous as the grains of sand in its vast deserts, all due to the warrior instinct and the supreme importance of shamonak in its culture. This brutal and ruthless martial art had become the ultimate key to resolving any dispute: one fight, one winner¡ªthat was all it took to settle conflicts and determine fates.


    But what happened to the weak? Those whose bones would shatter upon merely brushing the combat arena, those beings doomed to social invisibility. For Aldheran society, such people were nothing more than disposable cogs, destined to serve as farmers or laborers for the elite in the cities.


    In those times, racial supremacy was an unbreakable dogma. Absolute privilege was given to those born with gray skin, whose biology was deemed intrinsically superior to the yhamak with pink skin. The grays were legendary: stronger, more resilient, capable of fighting with broken bones and still emerging victorious. They had faced the planet¡¯s most terrifying beasts and lived to tell the tale.


    All of this oppressive system awaited its breaking point. And it arrived in the form of an unexpected figure, a hurricane of defiance named Exiliamus.


    He was a slender yet toned yhamak, standing one meter eighty-seven, draped in a white hooded robe. His appearance was deceptive: he seemed frail, but his eyes radiated a fire that defied all prejudice.


    In the middle of a public square, Exiliamus set up an improvised arena with a bold sign:


    "Any shamonak fighter¡ªgray, pink, tall, short, heavy, or light¡ªwho dares to challenge me and win, you are welcome."


    At first, he was mocked. His gaunt appearance provoked laughter among the spectators. But he remained unfazed, arms crossed, gaze fixed on an indefinite point, waiting.


    The provocation did not take long to elicit a response. Five shamonak fighters, giants over two meters tall, appeared, laughing uproariously. One of them, confident, jumped into the challenge.


    "Did you wake up wanting to die?" he growled, assuming a combat stance. "A weakling like you will be dust when I¡¯m done with you."


    The giant lunged at Exiliamus, who dodged with supernatural agility. When the fighter turned to counterattack, an inexplicable pain shot through him, bringing him to his knees with a blood-curdling scream.


    His companions attacked, convinced that Exiliamus had used some trickery. But when the city guards arrived, the scene froze them in their tracks.


    Exiliamus sat atop a pile of bodies. The fighters lay with strange wounds: precise punctures, as if made by a spear, in their chests, legs, necks, biceps, and heads. A surgical massacre.


    He rose, walking toward the guards, who trembled with swords raised. Instead of attacking, he extended his arms, fists clenched in a gesture of surrender.


    "Arrest me," he ordered. "Take me before the Grand Council."


    After hours of paperwork and exhaustive verifications, Exiliamus was brought before the Grand Council, accused of murder and disturbing the peace. However, the main reason for his appearance was that the five Shamonak fighters he had defeated were considered the best of their time, each with over twenty victories to their name.


    Chained and stripped of his robe, the elders of the Grand Council scrutinized him. He was a gray yhamak, but his appearance defied expectations; typically, gray yhamak developed robust and muscular physiques.


    "Who are you?" they asked sternly.


    "Don¡¯t you gather information before addressing anyone brought to this place? Idiots," Exiliamus replied with a tone of contempt.


    The Grand Council exhaled in indignation at his provocative response, though his defiant attitude piqued their curiosity.


    "Why did you challenge and eliminate five of our best Shamonak fighters?" they pressed.


    "Those five were the best? If that¡¯s true, I don¡¯t want to imagine the weakest, because that¡¯s where I come from. Can¡¯t you see? I¡¯m thin, I have little muscle, I¡¯m short, and yet I defeated those five titans on my own. That must be humiliating for you."


    "You have an air of arrogance for a murderer," they rebuked. "What is your goal? A twisted game or some form of protest?"


    "Exactly," Exiliamus responded. "The last word perfectly describes my actions: a protest. I am raising my voice in the only way you would understand¡ªthrough combat. A method that empowers the weak, unlike Shamonak, which only glorifies the strong."


    "Then do you think you can defeat the greatest Shamonak fighter we have?" they challenged.


    "I¡¯ll make him cry, beg, and grovel for mercy," declared Exiliamus with a smile. "I will make the strong bow before the weak, so they know what it feels like to be crushed."


    The brief meeting concluded, and Exiliamus was taken to the prison cells. The guards observed his rigorous training: he struck the air with unusual techniques, using his fingers as if they were spears, knives, or sharp instruments.


    The day of the final battle arrived. The arena rose majestically in the heart of the city, a legendary space where all kinds of confrontations took place¡ªfrom battles against beasts to fights between prisoners.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Exiliamus was led, chained, to the arena, where his opponent awaited him: Terminatus, The Cannibal, a formidable yhamak standing at 2.3 meters tall, with muscles as solid as stone and skin of an ashen gray that proclaimed his supremacy in combat.


    ¡°The Cannibal,¡± so named for his ferocity in battle, where his opponents took too long to recover¡ªor never returned to fight at all.


    The guards escorting Exiliamus unshackled him, retreating quickly from the combat scene with fear. Exiliamus, unnervingly calm, slid his hands into the pockets of his disheveled pants, gazing at Terminatus with an icy stare.


    Terminatus looked down on him as though he were nothing more than an insignificant ant. His breathing began to quicken, revealing a feverish excitement to destroy his foe. His impatience was palpable, his muscles taut like cords on the verge of snapping.


    The bells echoed through the arena, signaling the start of the fight. Terminatus lunged at Exiliamus, intent on crushing him in a single, merciless blow. But Exiliamus displayed the agility he was already known for, dodging the attack with an almost imperceptible sidestep.


    In a whirlwind movement, Terminatus felt a sharp pain in his ribs. Looking down, he saw a deep wound, as though a spear had pierced his body. Blood began to pour out, staining his gray skin a vivid crimson.


    With his hands clasped behind his back and initially looking away, Exiliamus slowly turned his head, locking eyes with Terminatus. He raised his right hand, his fingers smeared with blood, and flashed a sadistic smile that sent shivers through the spectators.


    The battle dragged on endlessly. Hours passed, from dawn to dusk, in a deadly dance of strikes and strategies. At last, a triumphant cry pierced the air of the arena.


    Exiliamus had won. With one arm raised in victory, he gazed at Terminatus, who lay sprawled on the ground, covered in piercing wounds. One particular injury to the neck had been decisive in ending the fight.


    But Exiliamus had not emerged unscathed. The blows he had endured had shattered his body; every muscle screamed in agony. His life force seemed to wane, but his will was stronger than his physical suffering.


    With his final breath, he raised his arm once more, pointing toward the mountains beyond the city. His voice, though weak, resonated with an intensity that transcended his physical state:


    "If someone as weak as I could defeat one of the strongest, what fate awaits the other Shamonak fighters? Behind the mountain, we are waiting¡ªthe practitioners of Nilux, the natural predator of Shamonak. All the weak, all those who were scorned by this absurd sport: come beyond the mountain. There, we will teach you our martial art so that Shamonak fades into oblivion."


    With these words, Exiliamus collapsed to the ground. His final breath was accompanied by a triumphant smile.


    Those words of Exiliamus had burned into the minds of the weak yhamak of the planet. At first, weeks and even months passed after the battle between Exiliamus and Terminatus¡ªa confrontation that still resonated in the collective memory.


    From humble farmers and servants of wealthy households to the poorest of the poor, everyone had heard his message. Some had witnessed it directly in the arena, others through the accounts of the more privileged citizens. But the core of his proclamation¡ªthat the weak could overcome the strong¡ªresonated within each of them as a promise of redemption.


    A massive migration then shook society. Those from the lowest classes packed their few belongings and headed toward the mountains beyond the city. Some, fearful of the unknown dangers, chose to stay behind.


    The Grand Council watched with growing concern. The impact on the empire¡¯s economy and social structure was devastating. The system, already fragile, was held together only by the daily Shamonak battles.


    An unexpected revelation came during the preparation of Exiliamus¡¯s burial. While washing his body, they discovered that his gray skin was not natural but rather a layer of paint. His true tone was pink, like any other common yhamak, revealing that his identity had been a complete strategy.


    Months later, just as it seemed the migration was beginning to stabilize, a shocking event shook the city. A group of four gray yhamak, with hair as white as the stars, stormed in, wreaking havoc. Twelve guards and three low-level Shamonak fighters fell to their attacks. The identification of the bodies confirmed the worst fears: the wounds were identical to those inflicted by Exiliamus.


    This incident sparked a massive conflict. The city deployed giant machines that launched projectiles at the mountain, hoping to bury the practitioners under a cascade of stones. Instead, they provoked their fury.


    A large number of Nilux practitioners emerged from the mountains. With deadly agility and cutting strikes, they slipped through the ranks of guards and Shamonak fighters, causing over five thousand soldier casualties and eliminating five hundred mid-level fighters.


    Khumulak, the king at the time and father of Princess Aolani, felt desperation coursing through his veins. Those once considered weak were now rising against the traditions of Yhamataw.


    In the midst of the chaos, three Shamonak fighters presented themselves before him:


    Tawnylon Gilmesh


    Armesto Advhentium


    Zarakel Oscuridae


    Their plan was to capitalize on the planetary event of the Seven Blood Moons, a cycle during which the sky turned a deep crimson due to auroral halos.


    Khumulak knew the three well. Tawnylon was a direct descendant of Yhamataw, with a lineage of conquests. Armesto was a strategist, adept at quickly adapting and discovering the weaknesses of his enemies. Zarakel was a warrior who knew exactly where to strike for maximum impact.


    Tawnylon requested a high-powered pyrotechnic projectile, visible from great distances.


    ¡°When you see it in the air,¡± he explained, ¡°it will be the signal. Prepare carts to retrieve the bodies of the Nilux practitioners.¡±


    With the confidence befitting legendary warriors, the three set out on their journey. A grand festival sent them off, with abundant food and dances that bordered on mystical.


    The following day, the Seven Blood Moons began. The first moon transformed into a deep red, casting an eerie glow over the city. The inhabitants prayed to Azhamat, imploring for the war to end and for the protection of their three warriors.


    On the second day, deafening explosions rocked the horizon beyond the mountain. As sudden as they had come, they ceased, leaving the citizens in absolute intrigue.


    By the third day, an apocalyptic earthquake shook the city, so violent that it rattled the very foundations of the royal palace. The tremor originated from the mountain, where a massive rockslide completely blocked the only access route.


    On the fourth day, blood-curdling and infernal screams emanated from the mountain. These were not isolated cries but hundreds of voices entwined in a brutal symphony that chilled the blood of all who heard it. A symphony of agony that seemed to rend the air itself.


    The fifth day brought dramatic change. The rock sealing the pathway began to move erratically and violently. A pyrotechnic projectile¡ªthe very one Tawnylon had requested¡ªilluminated the sky with an artificial brilliance.


    The rock shifted more intensely with each passing moment. After an hour of frenzied movement, it shattered into thousands of fragments. A cloud of dust momentarily obscured what lay beyond.


    Soldiers and Shamonak fighters waited at the site, anticipating a possible attack from the Nilux practitioners. However, they were enveloped in shock when the dust cleared, revealing Tawnylon, Armesto, and Zarakel.


    The three warriors emerged like battle specters. Covered in blood, with wounds cutting through their bodies, they advanced with unyielding determination. Their presence was more menacing than any army.


    Tawnylon, imposing in his height, approached the commanding officer. Leaning forward, he looked directly into his eyes with an intensity that could pierce souls.


    ¡°Did you bring the carriages we requested?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yes, we prepared twenty of the large ones,¡± replied the officer, his voice containing a barely perceptible tremor.


    ¡°Perfect,¡± declared Tawnylon. ¡°The path beyond the mountain is clear. The Nilux practitioners have been eliminated.¡±


    The three warriors left the site, leaving the soldiers to handle the carriages.


    As they ventured into the path, a landscape of death surrounded them. The bodies of Nilux practitioners lay everywhere, their grayish skin smeared with dried blood and wounds. Some corpses were battered, others so torn apart they were unrecognizable.


    When they arrived at the Nilux practitioners'' refuge, the officer immediately understood the strategy they had executed. Everything was destroyed. The shelters had been reduced to rubble. Blood was spread like a macabre canvas, narrating a story of total annihilation.


    The massacre had been complete and calculated.


    The city plunged into a feast of celebration during the final two days of the Blood Moons. Abundance of food and drink overflowed every corner, and Armesto and Zarakel surrendered themselves to the pleasures of victory, savoring every moment of the festivities.


    Meanwhile, Tawnylon was absent from the celebration. He stood at the mountain''s peak, gazing at the horizon where the last remnants of the Blood Moons slowly faded, lost in the shadows of dusk.


    The investigators had the opportunity to examine the bodies of the Nilux practitioners, discovering surprisingly peculiar characteristics. The bones in their fingers were incredibly reinforced, so dense that it took massive hammers to break them even slightly.


    Their grayish skin turned out to be mere paint, as was their hair. The investigators interpreted this as a deliberate mockery of the system that privileged gray-skinned yhamak, a message of defiance against established social hierarchies.


    When the Blood Moons came to an end, King Khumulak summoned the three warriors to reward them. He offered to grant them one wish, anything within his power.


    Zarakel was the first to make his request. With an enigmatic smile bordering on sardonic, he declared:


    ¡°I want seven hundred red pamtan, a splendid house, and ten red-skinned women for myself alone.¡±


    Armesto, with his characteristic slow stride and arms crossed, presented his request:


    ¡°I wish for a law to be enacted that prohibits discrimination against the pink-skinned yhamak. Look at what segregation has brought: a war that nearly destroyed our traditions.¡±


    Finally, Tawnylon, his white skin glowing like milk under the sunlight, approached the king with deliberate steps. He locked his piercing blue eyes onto the monarch''s and, without hesitation, pronounced his wish:


    ¡°I want to marry your daughter.¡±

 Chapter 35: recovery

    The road home for Thamuz passed fleetingly, like a flame dancing against the wind. His steps grew lighter as he advanced through the cobblestone streets, as though an invisible urgency was pushing him forward.


    From time to time, he stopped to pet the peculiar creatures resting in the corners of houses: six-eyed beasts that gazed at him with profound intensity while panting with their tongues exposed. Thamuz couldn¡¯t help but feel tenderness at how these creatures melted under his touch, purring with sounds no animal he had seen before could produce.


    After a long walk, he reached the outskirts of the city. He paused for a moment to contemplate the colossal walls protecting the city¡¯s interior, their ancient stones rising into the sky like silent guardians.


    Carriages of all kinds traveled the road: some sped by like arrows, while others crawled with a slowness akin to a planetoid spiraling toward a dying star.


    Thamuz raised his hand, trying to stop a carriage. Some passed by, ignoring his signal, while others deliberately avoided his gaze. For a moment, he considered using brute force to stop one, as he had done before with Narek, but something held him back¡ªperhaps exhaustion, or maybe concern about harming the driver. With a sigh, he lowered his arm and clasped his hands in resignation.


    The sound of creaking wheels and the snort of a beast broke the air. Thamuz turned his head to find a carriage that had stopped beside him. The driver, one hand on his chin, observed him with curiosity.


    ¡°So, are you getting on?¡± the driver asked in an affable tone.


    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± Thamuz replied, heading to the back of the carriage.


    The driver gave a light flick of his whip to his transport beast, which responded with a menacing roar before turning and taking the road in the opposite direction.


    ¡°Where are you headed, sir?¡± the driver inquired.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the exact name, but do you know the residence of Mr. Armesto?¡± Thamuz asked.


    ¡°Of course, he¡¯s one of the most influential people in the city. His house is so imposing you can see it from afar,¡± the driver replied, pointing toward the horizon.


    Thamuz followed the indicated direction, gazing at Armesto¡¯s mansion, a structure so majestic it looked more like a castle than a residence.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s my destination,¡± Thamuz confirmed.


    The driver nodded and steered the carriage toward the imposing structure. Along the way, he cast furtive glances at his passenger, who nodded off with arms crossed, struggling against sleep.


    ¡°Judging by your appearance, you must be that shamonak fighter who¡¯s been causing quite a stir, right?¡± the driver ventured.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. Why do you ask?¡± Thamuz replied, letting his arms fall.


    ¡°Just curious. With all you¡¯ve earned in the matches, I thought you¡¯d be traveling in something more extravagant: a carriage four times the size of mine, plated in exotic materials and pulled by high-level beasts like the mhonktan. But here you are, in my humble carriage,¡± the driver mused, briefly turning his head to look at his passenger.


    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t know I could buy that, but even so, why would I? After all, you¡¯re performing the same function as such a high-end carriage,¡± Thamuz said, fixing his crimson eyes on the driver. ¡°The function of getting me to a place. The rest is just luxury¡ªa whim I¡¯ve despised ever since my parents explained what it was.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a point there,¡± the driver replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ¡°We exist to transport, nothing more. You¡¯ve got a great mindset; I even envy it.¡±


    The journey continued in silence, with Thamuz watching as the sky gradually darkened, revealing the dancing auroras rising over the plains.


    The green and red colors intertwined in a silent symphony that, though inaudible, seemed to play in the minds of Thamuz and the driver. The latter even hummed a soft melody to himself.


    When they arrived at Armesto¡¯s house, Thamuz stepped off the carriage, walking over to the driver and handing him a green pamtan.


    ¡°Sorry to ask, but are you a relative or a friend of Mr. Armesto? He only allows people close to him into his home,¡± the driver asked, playing with the pamtan coin in his hand.


    ¡°I¡¯m the son of a friend of his. We¡¯ve been staying at his house while the shamonak to death days pass,¡± Thamuz explained, looking toward the massive stone gates.


    ¡°I see. If that¡¯s the case, best of luck in your battles. From what I¡¯ve heard, King Zarakel has hired a very strong shamonak fighter,¡± the driver remarked, settling back into his seat.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. All his experience will be useless against my brute strength,¡± Thamuz said with a defiant tone.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    "I hope so," said the driver.


    With those final words, he cracked his whip again, and the beast began to run as fast as its six legs could carry it.


    Thamuz watched as the carriage vanished into the horizon until no trace of it remained. He let out a deep sigh.


    "Brute strength, yes, I can do it," he murmured in a subdued tone while gazing at his right hand.


    He began his walk toward the massive stone gates, which, to his surprise, creaked open before him. As he crossed the threshold, he spotted a burly man with white hair and beard operating the heavy wheel mechanism that controlled the gate.


    "Who are you?" Thamuz asked.


    "I¡¯m the guardian of these gates. I¡¯ve had some trouble and couldn¡¯t fulfill my duties. And you, who might you be?"


    "I¡¯ve been living here with my father, Tawnylon, a friend of Mr. Armesto."


    "Ah, I see," the man said, stroking his thick beard. "Mr. Armesto did tell me to keep an eye out for the son of a friend of his, but it seems you¡¯ve taken your sweet time, boy."


    "What do you mean? How long has it been since I left?" Thamuz¡¯s voice carried a note of worry.


    "Two full days. If I were you, I¡¯d run to the house and explain everything in detail. I believe they went out looking for you all over the city yesterday," the guardian replied, pointing toward Armesto¡¯s mansion.


    Thamuz nodded and broke into a sprint toward the house. The wind whipped against his face as the ground trembled faintly beneath each step. When he reached the entrance, he slowed his pace and crept toward the backyard, hiding behind a bush to observe the house.


    There he found Armesto, seated in his distinctive chair by the table, gazing at the horizon where the auroras continued their ethereal dance. In his hands, he held a steaming cup, its contents swirling from the heat it emitted.


    Thamuz moved stealthily from bush to bush, trying to avoid Armesto¡¯s gaze until he stumbled over a stone and fell into the shadows, dangerously close to the seated man.


    "Who¡¯s there?" Armesto asked, rising from his seat.


    He approached the source of the noise, where he could make out a large dark mass sprawled on the ground. He nudged it with his foot, feeling a hardness reminiscent of a rock.


    That figure began to rise slowly, towering over the slender figure of Armesto, revealing crimson eyes that glowed in the dim light.


    "Hello, Mr. Armesto," whispered Thamuz''s embarrassed voice.


    "Thamuz? Is that you? We''ve been so worried, you''ve been gone for days," said Armesto, feeling the young man''s face with his hands.


    Thamuz stepped out of the shadows, letting the light from the torches decorating the courtyard bathe his figure, as he accompanied Armesto into the house.


    Once inside, Armesto went to the kitchen and returned with another steaming cup, which Thamuz drank in one gulp, as if it were a refreshing beverage.


    "What happened to you, Thamuz? Why did you disappear for two days?" asked Armesto, a reproachful tone in his voice.


    "When I went to the city, I ran into Korro, I suppose you know him, the former leader of the Steel Fangs. We talked until we reached his house..." Thamuz began.


    "You accepted an invitation from a stranger to his house?" interrupted Armesto, raising his voice.


    "Yes, I admit it. I was curious about what he wanted to show me. He offered me some funadortel..." Thamuz confessed.


    "Funadortel?" Armesto''s voice suddenly shifted from annoyance to curiosity. "What did you think of it?"


    "Well, it made me lose all sense of everything and wake up in a stranger''s house," Thamuz explained, puzzled by the sudden change in his host''s demeanor.


    Armesto burst into a loud laugh, slapping his chest with his palm, spilling some of the liquid from his cup.


    "Your first time with funadortel! I still remember my first experience! They found me five days later on the outskirts of the city!" he exclaimed between laughs.


    Thamuz laughed nervously, caught up in the inexplicable joy, until Armesto, wiping the tears from his cheeks, regained his composure.


    "Well, there''s your experience. If you want to try again, I have some essences and softer powders that will help you adjust," offered Armesto, taking Thamuz''s empty cup.


    "I appreciate it, but right now I need to know where my parents are," Thamuz replied, worried.


    "They''re upstairs, room twelve on the right. The door is open; you won''t have any trouble finding them," Armesto indicated, heading toward the kitchen.


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    Thamuz gave thanks and climbed the stairs, walking through the vast hallways until he found the indicated door, from which the clinking of dishes could be heard. He approached silently and peeked around the frame, smiling at the scene before him.


    His mother, Aolani, sat in a chair, watching as his father devoured a bowl of thick, steaming red soup. Aolani, with her sharp maternal instincts, immediately sensed a presence.


    "Is someone there?" she asked.


    Thamuz gathered his courage and stepped into view. Aolani froze at the sight of her son, as if time itself had stopped, until her muscles reacted, and she threw herself at him, embracing him so tightly it took his breath away.


    "Son, where have you been?!" his mother sobbed.


    "I got lost in the city; it¡¯s no big deal," Thamuz tried to reassure her.


    The caresses on his head and the sound of her son''s voice gradually calmed Aolani, who returned to her chair without letting go of Thamuz''s wrists.


    "Promise me..." she pleaded between sobs, "promise me you''ll never get lost again."


    "I promise. This was just something unexpected," Thamuz replied.


    He turned his gaze to his father, who was finishing wiping his mouth with his forearm before slowly turning his head.


    "Hello, son," his father said in a dry yet warm voice.


    Thamuz looked at his father with relief: his musculature had returned, his pale skin had regained its characteristic vigor, and his blue eyes shone intensely in the dim room.


    "Hello, Father," Thamuz replied, comforted by his recovery.

 Chapter 36: the master

    Thamuz stopped at the threshold of the room, holding back the urge to run and embrace his father. The memory of the incident with his right hand kept him frozen, forcing him to keep his arm hidden behind his back as if it were a dangerous weapon.


    ¡°Love, please, leave Thamuz and me alone for a moment,¡± Tawnylon requested as he shifted with difficulty on the bed to face his son.


    Aolani nodded silently. Before leaving, she wrapped her son in a brief maternal embrace, and the sound of the door closing echoed with finality in the room.


    ¡°Come closer, son. Take that chair and sit in front of me,¡± Tawnylon instructed, his piercing gaze searching for something in Thamuz''s face.


    With cautious movements, Thamuz took the chair his mother had occupied moments earlier. He placed it at a prudent distance from the bed, close enough to converse but far enough to feel safe.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you¡¯re recovering, Father,¡± Thamuz murmured, keeping his right hand firmly hidden.


    Tawnylon didn¡¯t respond immediately. His eyes studied his son as he rested his arm on his legs. After a moment that felt eternal, he extended his hand with the palm up.


    ¡°Show me your right hand,¡± he ordered, his voice serious and authoritative.


    ¡°My hand? Why do you want to...?¡± Thamuz protested, pulling his arm back even further.


    ¡°Give it to me!¡± Tawnylon¡¯s roar echoed against the walls with an intensity Thamuz had never heard in his father¡¯s voice.


    Trembling, Thamuz slowly extended his right arm. He shut his eyes tightly, bracing for the horror to repeat itself, but something was different. When he felt his father¡¯s touch, he opened his eyes in surprise. His hand remained still as Tawnylon examined it, even when he pressed it against his chest, just as he had on that fateful day. But now, the hand was inert, as if it had never harbored a will of its own.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t move anymore,¡± Thamuz whispered in relief.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I needed to see it,¡± Tawnylon replied, releasing his son¡¯s hand. ¡°Tell me what happened that day. I can¡¯t believe you simply wanted to take your father¡¯s life.¡±


    Thamuz felt his throat dry up. His mind desperately searched for a way to explain the unexplainable without mentioning the demon that had tormented him since his awakening.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to explain it without sounding insane, but I beg you to try to understand me, Father,¡± Thamuz began, closing his eyes as he searched for the right words. ¡°Everything that¡¯s been happening to me... I think it¡¯s the work of a demon or some entity beyond my understanding. It talks about a pact we supposedly made, although I can¡¯t remember it. That agreement... transformed my right hand into something capable of taking the lives of those I love the most.¡±


    ¡°I see... a demon that makes contracts,¡± Tawnylon murmured, struggling to sit up in bed. He hobbled over to the window, where the northern lights danced in the night sky. ¡°What you¡¯re saying isn¡¯t as unreal as you might think. I¡¯ve seen it with my own eyes.¡±


    ¡°Really? What do you mean, Father?¡± Thamuz¡¯s voice trembled with curiosity.


    ¡°Do you remember Zarakel?¡± Tawnylon kept his gaze fixed on the horizon. ¡°After everything he¡¯s done to us, I¡¯m sure you do. But before, we were friends. Not as close as Armesto and I, but you could count on him in any situation.¡± He paused, as if the words weighed heavily on him. ¡°I¡¯ve told you before why he hates me so much, for humiliating him in combat. But that time, I saw something different in him: his skin was an unnatural gray, darker than that of any yhamak born with such a color. His appearance had become grotesque, just as you see him now. After I defeated him, a source revealed to me that he had made a pact with a demon in an attempt to defeat me.¡±


    ¡°A pact with a demon? Like the one I described?¡± Thamuz leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with recognition.


    ¡°Exactly. An ancient and mysterious one,¡± Tawnylon said, crossing his arms behind his back. ¡°Its name is unknown, as are its true powers. That¡¯s why Zarakel looks so different from us, especially with those tentacles sprouting from his back.¡± He turned to face his son. ¡°Now the question is: what kind of demon resides within you?¡±


    Thamuz stroked his chin thoughtfully. On the rare occasions the demon manifested to torment him, its appearance was unmistakable: a floating skull with skeletal arms, empty, dark eye sockets where eyes once existed, and horns as long as his forearm. Its raspy voice sounded like the whispers of tormented souls.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Father. It¡¯s simply been there,¡± Thamuz replied. ¡°Its appearance is cadaverous, as if it¡¯s nothing but bone. When it speaks to me, it only mocks me and everything that¡¯s happened. Though... once it mentioned something about pushing my limits, making me run from here to the city.¡±


    Tawnylon visibly shuddered.


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± he objected, trying to hold onto logic. ¡°The city is nine hundred kilometers away. You¡¯d need a carriage pulled by an exceptional beast to cover that distance. And at that speed, your legs would have exploded from air friction.¡±


    ¡°The demon said exactly that,¡± Thamuz lowered his gaze. ¡°It said that a few more seconds, and my legs would have exploded. Now the question is... how do I get rid of it?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it,¡± the demon''s voice echoed in his head, cold and menacing. ¡°We have a deal, remember? As long as it stands, I¡¯ll do whatever it takes to stay with you. Even if I have to kill your entire family and force you to commit atrocities. Best save that thought for your dreams.¡±


    The demon¡¯s words reverberated in Thamuz¡¯s mind like a poisonous echo, silencing him as a shiver ran down his spine.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°According to the writings of our religious leaders,¡± Tawnylon began, stepping closer until he stood directly in front of his son, ¡°when someone makes a pact with a demon, there is only one way to break free: death. A painful death that takes the demon down as well.¡± He paused, his voice faltering slightly. ¡°But you¡¯re my son. I would never wish for you to die that way. I wouldn¡¯t wish for you to die at all. You¡¯ll have to learn to live with this curse. Perhaps you can even use it to your advantage, directing those abilities against those who threaten your life.¡±


    The demon¡¯s laughter rang in Thamuz¡¯s ears, a triumphant cackle that sent chills to his very bones.


    ¡°Let¡¯s change the subject, son,¡± Tawnylon suggested as he returned to his bed. ¡°I don¡¯t want to burden you with anguish just as you were celebrating my recovery. What were you doing in the city?¡±


    Thamuz shifted in his chair, crossing his arms and whistling softly as he organized his thoughts.


    ¡°First, I went to a sort of market. There were so many people shopping, and what caught my eye was a stall run by a boy selling jars with essences,¡± he said, instinctively touching his right arm, as if searching for something that was no longer there. He remembered the sling his mother had made, along with his merchandise and his pouch of pamtan. ¡°I had them right here.¡±


    ¡°You must¡¯ve dropped them on the way. Go on,¡± Tawnylon encouraged.


    ¡°After that, I met Korro. I¡¯ve never introduced him to you, but he¡¯s a criminal Narek and I met on my first visit to the city. He¡¯s much calmer now; he destroyed his own gang,¡± Thamuz explained, astonishment evident in his voice. ¡°We went to see the spaceship that had landed on the outskirts. It was gigantic, Father, immense. And there were beings from another planet, completely different from us.¡±


    ¡°A spaceship?¡± Tawnylon¡¯s eyes gleamed with nostalgia. ¡°I used to see them as a child with my father. They¡¯d come randomly: every five years, ten years, three years... But they always brought wonders: jewels from other worlds, mystical or technological artifacts that seemed like pure magic. Once, I got your mother a gift from one of those ships. I think she still keeps it at home.¡±


    ¡°What kind of gift was it?¡± Thamuz asked with childlike curiosity.


    ¡°A necklace of precious gems that glowed under the light of our moons,¡± Tawnylon smiled. ¡°Each gem shone with a different color: red, blue, and yellow. Colors as beautiful as your mother. Though I had to give it to her in secret; back then, she was still a princess and had trouble with her father.¡±


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    "Going back to my story," Thamuz continued, "we encountered Narek and his girlfriend on the spaceship. She had an altercation with Korro and ended up crying next to Narek. I don¡¯t know if they¡¯re still here, but they¡¯re probably upset with me for hanging out with him."


    "If you say he¡¯s a gang leader, then he¡¯s a criminal," Tawnylon¡¯s voice grew stern. "I¡¯d be upset too if you kept that kind of company. But I trust you won¡¯t become like that, at least not while I¡¯m alive."


    "Of course, Father. I¡¯d never disappoint you like that," Thamuz assured, crossing his arms. "Korro invited me to his house and offered me something called funadortel. It was like a glass jar where he put powder and dried leaves to burn and inhale. It knocked him unconscious."


    "I suppose you tried the funadortel too, considering you disappeared for two days, as your mother told me," Tawnylon let out a soft chuckle. "You need to be more careful with that stuff. Small puffs and exhale quickly, like you¡¯re eating something hot. That¡¯s how you best enjoy the flavor."


    "You know how to use it? You surprise me," Thamuz cleared his throat before continuing his tale. "With my first puff, everything around me faded. Reality distorted in unimaginable ways, my head spun until I blacked out. I woke up at someone¡¯s house, where they helped me and guided me through my confusion."


    "You were lucky someone helped you," Tawnylon remarked, reclining on his bed. "Otherwise, you¡¯d be wandering the streets, babbling and stumbling."


    "Although there¡¯s something Korro mentioned that intrigues me," Thamuz lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. "Father, with all your years of experience and knowledge, answer me: what exactly is a conqueror? Korro talked about it, but I want to know your version."


    Tawnylon abruptly turned his head upon hearing that word. "Conqueror," so simple yet laden with meaning, especially when tied to power.


    "A conqueror, you say?" he mused, searching for the right words. "A conqueror is someone who claims things as their own. Imagine that through various methods, you make an entire planet yours. That¡¯s a conqueror."


    "Fascinating," Thamuz murmured, stroking his chin. "Has there ever been a conqueror on this planet?"


    "Only one, a hundred years ago, when I was eighty," Tawnylon¡¯s eyes drifted into memory. "Ankheru, known as ''the blue tide.'' He was taller than I am, and his spaceships... the one you saw in the city would be insignificant by comparison. He came to claim our planet. He could have easily taken it with the arsenal of his ships, or even on his own, in a matter of days. But he gave us a chance to fight."


    "How was that?" curiosity gleamed in Thamuz¡¯s eyes.


    "Ankheru was passionate about one-on-one combat," Tawnylon began. "He built a combat arena and asked us to bring our strongest warrior. I was young then, experienced in shamonak with several victories, but I wasn¡¯t ready for an event of that magnitude. The king khumulak summoned the most powerful among us."


    "Who was it?" Thamuz asked eagerly.


    "My master, Vixkard," Tawnylon¡¯s voice filled with respect. "Once, he fought me and left me incapacitated for two months. Back then, he was invincible, with hundreds of victories and unparalleled strength. On the day of the battle, Ankheru introduced his fighter: a pale, bald being with four eyes and a trench coat that seemed fused to his skin, though it swayed in the wind. From the stands beside the arena, I witnessed something extraordinary," Tawnylon¡¯s tone grew animated with the memory. "My master attacked with all his might, while that diminutive being evaded every strike, moving his hands in strange ways, turning my master¡¯s attacks against him. The battle dragged on until my master¡¯s legendary endurance prevailed, defeating Ankheru¡¯s fighter with a series of decisive blows."


    Thamuz sat enthralled by the story, imagining the titanic battle in his mind. Suddenly, a detail caught his attention, a name that echoed in his memory.


    "What did you say your master¡¯s name was?" he asked, leaning forward.


    "Vixkard," Tawnylon replied. "Why do you ask?"


    "I think I found him in the city," Thamuz stretched in his seat, unaware of the sudden shift in the atmosphere. "He was short, blind, with gray hair and a beard. He seemed to have some back trouble because he walked with a limp."


    The change in Tawnylon was instantaneous. He rose from the bed as if struck by lightning, his strength returning in a surge. With heavy steps, he strode to the window, leaning against the frame with such force that the wood groaned under his weight. His teeth clenched as he processed the information.


    "Vixkard... is in the city, isn¡¯t he?" his voice emerged as a menacing growl, laden with an emotion Thamuz had never heard before.


    "Y-yes... why?" Thamuz stammered, noticing the transformation in his father¡¯s demeanor.


    "Tell me, Thamuz," Tawnylon pressed harder against the window frame as if trying to crush it in his grip. "Do you want to go back to the city? It¡¯ll be a good time for us to spend together, father and son. Besides... I need to pay a small visit."


    "Yes, I¡¯d like that," Thamuz replied in a faint voice, trembling under his father¡¯s gaze¡ªa gaze that seemed to accuse him of a crime he didn¡¯t understand.

 Chapter 37: apprentice

    A carriage sped toward the city, its beast panting under the considerable weight it bore. The driver, visibly nervous, cast furtive glances behind him, uneasy about the two imposing passengers occupying the vehicle''s interior.


    The passengers were Tawnylon and his son, Thamuz, who had hired the transport to visit Vixkard in the city. The carriage''s interior, though spacious, barely accommodated the two burly travelers.


    ¡°Did you bring enough clothes and everything you need?¡± Tawnylon asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. ¡°Remember, we¡¯ll be staying in the city for several days.¡±


    Thamuz responded by lifting a sturdy leather bag resting between them, shaking it proudly in front of his father while flashing a grin.


    ¡°Everything essential is here, but are you sure Mr. Vixkard will let us stay?¡± Thamuz asked with some concern. ¡°You haven¡¯t even spoken to him, and we don¡¯t know if he¡¯ll welcome us.¡±


    ¡°Stay calm, son,¡± Tawnylon replied, intertwining his fingers serenely. ¡°He¡¯ll have to take us in; according to what you told me, he offered to train you in the shamonak. And if there¡¯s one thing Vixkard values more than his drink, it¡¯s sharing his knowledge of this discipline.¡±


    The journey continued as the carriage jolted under the weight of its occupants. Thamuz, peering through the window, spotted a group of Zarakel¡¯s soldiers entering the majestic city. Among them were several shamonak fighters of considerable repute, including one he recognized from unofficial street fights: Bastion, nicknamed ¡°the Living Dead.¡± The group comprised nine fierce warriors.


    ¡°Where could they be headed?¡± Thamuz inquired curiously.


    ¡°If they¡¯re traveling with Zarakel¡¯s escort, they¡¯re likely bound for his barracks,¡± Tawnylon explained, directing his gaze to the same scene. ¡°Given their level, they¡¯ve probably been summoned for a special event or perhaps to face his son.¡±


    ¡°Ah, Gigantino,¡± Thamuz murmured, recalling his defeat against Zarakel¡¯s heir. ¡°Have there been any updates on the next match?¡±


    ¡°No, Armesto hasn¡¯t received any messages lately. According to rumors, no one has seen Zarakel since your fight with Bhaxmunt,¡± Tawnylon remarked, shifting in his seat. ¡°He¡¯s probably secluded in the depths of his castle, scheming something.¡±


    The carriage entered the area designated for transport vehicles and goods, a more accessible zone reserved exclusively for commercial traffic.


    ¡°Where did you arrange to meet Vixkard?¡± Tawnylon asked.


    ¡°According to what he told me, he lives in the upper section of the city. He mentioned placing a rock or some glowing marker to identify his home,¡± Thamuz replied.


    The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and the driver opened a small hatch to address them.


    ¡°My apologies, gentlemen, but my beast is exhausted from the journey. If I continue, it might collapse. At least I¡¯ve managed to bring you to the entrance of the upper zone,¡± the driver explained, as the labored breathing of his steed was audible in the background.


    Thamuz and Tawnylon nodded understandingly, paid for the service, and descended from the vehicle. They watched as the carriage departed, the beast now walking at a more relaxed pace. Turning around, they surveyed the path ahead.


    Before them rose a steep incline, resembling a hill of considerable height. Houses were strategically spaced, separated from one another to prevent overloading the terrain.


    ¡°Well, our adventure begins here,¡± Tawnylon remarked, crossing his arms as he looked at his son. ¡°Would you like to ride on my shoulders?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Thamuz asked, bewildered. ¡°Why would I want to do that?¡±


    ¡°You know, for a father-son moment. I remember when you were little, you loved sitting on my shoulders while we climbed hills,¡± Tawnylon explained, placing his hands on his hips as he gazed at the slope. ¡°Besides, it¡¯ll be good exercise for me to regain some vigor. You¡¯ve put on quite a bit of weight.¡±


    Thamuz looked at his father with a mix of confusion and amusement at the unusual request. But understanding his father¡¯s desire to share time together, he exhaled softly and nodded.


    ¡°Excellent!¡± Tawnylon exclaimed, crouching down until he was nearly touching the ground. ¡°Come on, climb up, son.¡±


    Thamuz complied, positioning himself behind his father and grabbing onto his back before settling onto his shoulders. Once Tawnylon felt the full weight, he slowly stood up, securing his son¡¯s legs firmly.


    ¡°Are you comfortable?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yes, perfectly,¡± Thamuz replied, holding onto his father¡¯s head for balance.


    Tawnylon began the ascent with surprising ease, as though carrying a child rather than a sturdy young man. Thamuz, meanwhile, kept his hands on his father¡¯s hair, feeling its softness and finding a certain comfort in the position.


    The steep slope posed a challenge for ordinary people, who often relied on individuals of exceptional strength to transport them, whether in carriages or improvised means like carts. Some even resorted to using slaves to aid them in their climb to their residences.


    However, Tawnylon ascended with apparent ease, his breathing barely labored, unbothered by any obstacle or discomfort as he steadily advanced up the incline.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Suddenly, Tawnylon felt a gentle tug on his hair. Looking up, he saw Thamuz pointing with his finger.


    ¡°Look, Father, there¡¯s the glowing stone,¡± he indicated.


    Tawnylon followed his son¡¯s direction and saw it clearly: a stone shining with remarkable intensity, even under the bright midday sunlight that bathed the city.


    They made their way toward the marker until they reached Vixkard¡¯s house, just as Thamuz remembered it. Tawnylon crouched again and gave his son¡¯s leg a pat, signaling him to climb down.


    Once on the ground, Thamuz took the initiative and circled the house, searching for the entrance, while faint panting noises came from within, as if someone were exerting themselves physically.


    ¡°Come, Father, I think I found the entrance,¡± Thamuz called, stopping in front of what appeared to be the main door.


    Tawnylon approached and knocked with his knuckles. From inside, the clatter of dishes and cups falling echoed, as though someone had stumbled over them in their haste.


    The door creaked open slowly, and behind it, Vixkard¡¯s head emerged, peering cautiously at the visitors.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± he asked warily.


    ¡°It¡¯s me, Mr. Vixkard, Thamuz. I¡¯ve come with my father, Tawnylon,¡± Thamuz replied.


    Vixkard remained still for a moment before swinging the door wide open, extending his arms in a welcoming gesture.


    ¡°Tawnylon, my old student, come here!¡± he exclaimed joyfully.


    However, Tawnylon held his position, observing his former teacher with a neutral expression.


    ¡°Hello, Master. It¡¯s been a while,¡± he said, crossing his arms.


    Vixkard chuckled softly, lowering his arms in slight embarrassment and leaning against the doorframe.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you both. I suppose you¡¯re here about the proposal I made to Thamuz about training him in the shamonak?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°Yes, my father is asking if we could stay here for a few days to train with you. It would be a great help,¡± Thamuz explained.


    ¡°Of course, come in. Tawnylon and I have much to discuss,¡± Vixkard responded, straightening up and opening the door wider. ¡°I¡¯ll show you your rooms.¡±


    Vixkard led them through the house, guided by the soft chime of stone trinkets that marked the path. Thamuz and Tawnylon followed closely.


    When they reached another door, Vixkard opened it, revealing a scene that left Thamuz stunned: in a small combat arena stood Korro, shirtless and wearing traditional shamonak pants.


    He struck a massive stone¡ªsimilar to the one Thamuz had faced during his early lessons with his father¡ªwith open palms. Korro''s body glistened with sweat, and his palms bled from the relentless self-inflicted punishment.


    Korro paused his training to glance at Thamuz, his breath heavy from exertion. They exchanged a silent nod of acknowledgment.


    Inside the house, the atmosphere exuded both comfort and antiquity. Vixkard led them to their rooms. Thamuz curiously observed the simplicity of the quarters: the beds, though small, seemed functional with the right posture. The walls were adorned with mysterious symbols: triangles intersected by lines and circles bisected by horizontal strokes.


    ¡°These will be your accommodations during your stay. I¡¯ll be outside, overseeing the training of my new... well, my former student,¡± Vixkard said before departing.


    Tawnylon stepped inside and placed his leather bag in a corner, while Thamuz settled onto the bed, searching for a comfortable position.


    ¡°Everything remains the same as last time,¡± Tawnylon murmured.


    Thamuz found his ideal posture, curled like the letter C, and noticed his father sitting on the other bed, staring pensively at the floor.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Father? What¡¯s on your mind?¡± Thamuz asked with concern.


    ¡°Nothing significant, son. I¡¯m just reflecting on the days ahead,¡± Tawnylon replied, leaning back. ¡°Did you see the man training with the bonkam stone? He shows promise as a fighter.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s Korro, the ex-gang leader I told you about,¡± Thamuz explained, placing his hands behind his head.


    ¡°Really? It¡¯s good he¡¯s left that life for the shamonak. The criminal path is often a short one,¡± Tawnylon commented, staring at the ceiling.


    Thamuz watched his father as he fidgeted with his fingers, recalling their encounter with Vixkard.


    ¡°Father, why did you reject Vixkard¡¯s embrace? He must have felt bad.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s... complicated. I¡¯ll explain when the time is right,¡± Tawnylon replied, standing up and stretching. ¡°I¡¯m heading out to the yard. Care to join me?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    In the backyard, near the combat arena, they found Vixkard seated in a rocking chair, listening intently to the sounds of Korro¡¯s training. Thamuz sat cross-legged on the ground next to him, while Tawnylon leaned against the doorframe. Together, they watched Korro¡¯s relentless practice.


    ¡°Tell me, young Thamuz, what do you hope to learn from the shamonak?¡± Vixkard asked.


    ¡°Everything¡ªevery technique, every combat style,¡± Thamuz replied eagerly, turning to face him. ¡°Can you teach me?¡±


    ¡°Without a doubt, and with ease.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve taught him the basics. I trust you can refine them,¡± Tawnylon added, his arms crossed.


    ¡°Of course I can. If I managed to train you, Tawnylon, I can train anyone,¡± Vixkard said with a chuckle, rocking gently. ¡°Thamuz, would you like to hear the story of how I met your father?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d love to hear it.¡±


    Vixkard¡¯s eyes twinkled as he began, ¡°It all started when I was much younger. My stature was commanding, and my physique was the envy of many. People sought me out, desperate to train under me, aspiring to reach my level. But few could endure my regimen. Most quit, and some suffered injuries that ended their dreams. Then your father showed up¡ªsmaller than you, bruised and cut, his pale skin making him look like a ghost.¡±


    ¡°He must have piqued your curiosity,¡± Thamuz commented.


    ¡°Enormously. He had no home or known family, but in his eyes burned the unmistakable fire of a shamonak fighter¡ªfueled by fury and a thirst for vengeance. I took him in and began to train him,¡± Vixkard said, laughing heartily. ¡°In the beginning, he was outrageously rebellious. He ignored my instructions and fought his own way¡ªwith clenched fists, wild kicks, even headbutts, trying to use his horns as weapons. While that¡¯s allowed in shamonak, it leaves you wide open to counters.¡±


    Tawnylon chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked further into the garden, eventually disappearing from view.


    ¡°One day, in a fit of defiance, he challenged me, boasting that he could defeat me easily. I took it personally, and when the duel came, I incapacitated him so thoroughly he couldn¡¯t fight for two months,¡± Vixkard said, laughing harder. ¡°But that completely changed him. He became calmer, kinder, and even stayed late to train. Then he entered the official matches, where his greatness began to shine. I took immense pride in having trained someone I¡¯d consider my successor.¡±


    "That''s an extraordinary story. I hope you can do the same for me," Thamuz said enthusiastically.


    "I will, with dedication and effort. But first, I must see how you fight," Vixkard turned his head toward Korro and raised his hand. "Korro, come here!"


    Korro paused his training and approached, panting as he placed his hands on his waist and brushed a strand of hair away from his face.


    "What do you want, old man?" he replied disdainfully.


    "You see, Thamuz will be staying here to learn shamonak. I want to assess his skills, so from now on, he will be your training partner," Vixkard explained, intertwining his fingers. "I want to see you two fight right now."


    Korro swallowed nervously at the request, while Thamuz flashed a grin.

 Chapter 38: the rebel and the demon

    "What do you mean I''m going to fight Thamuz? That can''t be," protested Korro, running a trembling hand through his hair as he stared at Vixkard in disbelief.


    "It''s an order, and that''s final. Besides, it will give you experience for when you face opponents as formidable as Thamuz," Vixkard retorted firmly, crossing his arms over his chest with authority.


    "Fine, but I''ll only do it to help Thamuz, understood?" Korro reluctantly conceded, his tense shoulders revealing his unease.


    With a resigned gesture, Korro led Thamuz toward the combat arena. The air felt heavy with tension as each took their positions at opposite corners, preparing for the clash.


    Korro began his preparation ritual: he pounded his chest with an ancient rhythm, his movements precise and deliberate. He crouched to touch his knees and, with supernatural grace, raised one leg to an impossible height before slamming it into the ground with controlled force. He repeated the sequence with the other leg, every movement a dance of contained power.


    Thamuz, on the other hand, shrugged off his shirt in one fluid motion, letting it fall to the side. His muscles rippled under his black skin as he methodically stretched his body. The crack of his joints echoed in the expectant silence, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the arena.


    Tawnylon returned from the garden and positioned himself beside Vixkard, who remained seated with a blanket over his knees and a steaming cup of tea in his right hand. Despite his blindness, his face was oriented toward the arena as if he could perceive every movement.


    "How did you get that scar?" Tawnylon asked, his eyes fixed on the mark that crossed Vixkard''s face.


    "This?" Vixkard traced the scar with experienced fingers. "An old mhonktan gave it to me a long time ago. Those beasts are especially ferocious when wounded. Even I thought I would die that day, but I survived... though I lost my sight in the process."


    "I see. I suppose the mhonktan attacked you, right?" Tawnylon inquired.


    A harsh laugh escaped Vixkard''s throat as he cracked his time-worn knuckles.


    "Of course not. You know me well¡ªyou know exactly why I''m still alive," he replied with a fierceness that made his weathered face shine.


    In the arena, Korro and Thamuz completed their preparations. Korro assumed a characteristic stance, arms stretched back with palms extended like tense wings, ready to unleash his power. Thamuz, in contrast, crouched into his distinctive low position, hands extended forward like invisible claws seemingly grasping at the very air.


    As if sealing a silent pact, both fighters lunged at each other. Thamuz attempted his signature grappling move, but Korro, demonstrating surprising speed, landed a precise palm strike on the left side of his opponent¡¯s face.


    Although the impact wasn¡¯t devastating, it was enough to throw Thamuz off balance. Taking advantage of the moment, Korro skillfully slid his foot, hooking it around his rival¡¯s. In a display of technique, he used Thamuz¡¯s own weight against him, channeling all his strength through his shoulder to hurl him to the side.


    Thamuz hit the ground with such force that the foundations of Vixkard¡¯s house shook, causing a few drops of tea to spill from his cup.


    "From the intensity of the vibration, I deduce that Thamuz has fallen," Vixkard commented calmly, lifting the cup to his lips. "Only he has enough weight to make the structure tremble like that."


    Thamuz quickly rose, turning to face Korro, who maintained a serene but determined expression, revealing the seriousness with which he approached the fight. Abandoning his usual low stance, Thamuz raised his hands with palms open.


    "Let¡¯s see if you¡¯re just as slippery dodging strikes," Thamuz murmured to himself.


    He lunged at Korro, unleashing a storm of open-palm strikes. Dust swirled around their feet as Korro alternated between dodging and counterattacking, though some blows managed to connect, which he absorbed as best as he could.


    In a desperate move, Korro surged forward, grabbing Thamuz¡¯s waist. With immense strength, he lifted him and slammed him into the ground, mounting him to rain down a flurry of palm strikes to his face.


    "Come on, son! Don¡¯t let him dominate you on the ground!" Tawnylon¡¯s voice boomed from his position, trying to inspire his son.


    Thamuz endured the onslaught, shielding himself with his forearms until, in a calculated maneuver, he extended his arms to the sides, feigning surrender. When Korro let his guard down, Thamuz sprung his trap: his hands moved like lightning, striking Korro¡¯s ribs simultaneously.


    "Aghh!" Korro¡¯s cry of pain mixed with a splatter of blood and saliva.


    He staggered back, clutching his ribs, while Thamuz slowly rose, feeling his bruised and battered face.


    "You hit with a lot of power," Thamuz acknowledged, pressing his nose to release the blood obstructing his breathing. "Perhaps a little less than Khabixan¡ªif I recall his name correctly¡ªthe one I faced in my second shamonak to death."


    "You hit with a lot of power," Thamuz acknowledged, pressing his nose to release the blood obstructing his breathing. "Perhaps a little less than Khabixan¡ªif I recall his name correctly¡ªthe one I faced in my second shamonak a muerte."


    "That comparison honors me," Korro replied between labored breaths, still recovering from the impact. "But I still have strength to continue."This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    The fight escalated to a new level of intensity as Thamuz, smiling at his rival''s ferocity, returned to his characteristic low stance. This time, however, instead of preparing his arms for grappling, he launched into a direct charge, concealing his true intentions.


    Korro raised his hands in response, torn between dodging or countering with a more powerful strike, his confidence momentarily clouding his judgment. Just inches from being struck by Thamuz''s shoulder, Korro landed a precise palm strike to his opponent''s neck, forcing Thamuz to recoil while clutching the impacted area.


    Seizing the momentary vulnerability, Korro slid behind Thamuz, grabbed his waist, and, in an explosive movement, arched backward to execute a suplex. The force of the maneuver shook the house so violently that it nearly toppled Vixkard from his chair.


    "Another impact of Thamuz hitting the ground," Vixkard commented, readjusting his position. "Your son has a remarkable gift for absorbing blows; his build and weight certainly work in his favor."


    "It¡¯s his greatest weakness in combat," Tawnylon replied, shaking his head in disapproval. "He relies too much on his resilience and tenacity. In his last fight, I feared for his life because of that attitude."


    "You¡¯re referring to his fight with Bhaxmunt, if I¡¯m not mistaken? I''ve heard about that match since arriving in the city," Vixkard inquired with interest.


    "Exactly. He was one of the last practitioners of nilux. Do you remember that martial art?"


    "How could I forget," Vixkard nodded. "I¡¯ve tested my limits against several masters of that discipline."


    In the arena, the clash continued relentlessly. After executing the suplex, Korro leaped into the air, aiming a downward kick at Thamuz¡¯s face. However, Thamuz, demonstrating extraordinary reflexes, caught Korro¡¯s foot at the last moment and slammed him into the ground. He quickly got up, attempting to replicate his opponent¡¯s strategy with a stomp aimed at Korro¡¯s face.


    By mere millimeters, Korro avoided the impact by turning his head. In a fluid motion, he wrapped his legs around Thamuz¡¯s, applying a hold that toppled the massive fighter with the pressure exerted.


    "Is that technique even allowed?" Tawnylon asked, bewildered.


    "It''s not common in fights, but it''s a submission technique specifically designed to bring down larger opponents," Vixkard explained. "It will be interesting to see how Thamuz escapes such an effective hold."


    The pressure from Korro¡¯s grip was brutal, like the jaws of a wild beast crushing Thamuz¡¯s muscles.


    "This is my only option to immobilize this giant," Korro muttered through gritted teeth. "One more strike from his palms, and he¡¯ll break my bones. Please, surrender."


    But Thamuz, far from yielding, began dragging himself across the arena toward the center of the combat zone. With superhuman effort, he gradually rose until he balanced on a single leg.


    "Surrender, or I¡¯ll break your leg!" Korro bellowed, frustration tinting his voice.


    Thamuz responded to Korro¡¯s ultimatum with a beastly roar. In a display of sheer brute force, he lifted the leg trapped in Korro¡¯s hold and slammed it into the ground with the same ritualistic intensity Korro had demonstrated at the start of the match.


    A dense cloud of dust rose, swallowing both fighters. Tawnylon squinted, trying to pierce through the curtain of dirt, while Vixkard felt the vibrations of heavy footsteps approaching.


    From within the cloud of dust emerged the silhouette of Thamuz, carrying a battered Korro whose chest bore a massive bruise, evidence of the devastating impact he had endured.


    "Judging by the weight of the footsteps, I deduce Thamuz has won," Vixkard remarked, rising from his rocking chair. "I don¡¯t hear Korro¡¯s steps."


    "That¡¯s right; Thamuz is carrying him," Tawnylon confirmed as he moved toward the fighters.


    Vixkard¡¯s lips curled into a satisfied smile, and he hurried to the kitchen. He returned with a large container of bandamena water, its characteristic bluish glow faintly illuminating the room, along with an empty cup.


    Korro lay on the ground, struggling to catch his breath as he raised an open palm toward Thamuz.


    "I never imagined you had such power," Korro gasped between fits of coughing. "At least I gave you a fight."


    Thamuz firmly clasped Korro¡¯s hand, a respectful smile forming on his face. "Don¡¯t worry. if we train together, you¡¯ll reach my level. You have my word."


    Vixkard handed the container and cup to Tawnylon, who poured the glowing liquid before returning the vessel. He knelt beside Korro, gently supporting his head to help him drink.


    "Here, this will speed up your recovery," Tawnylon murmured soothingly.


    At the first sip, Korro''s eyes widened. He clutched Tawnylon''s hand, eager for more of the healing liquid, until he emptied the cup completely.


    Tawnylon gently placed Korro''s head on the ground. After a few minutes, Korro began to gradually sit up as his wounds and the bruise faded away as if they had never existed.


    Vixkard returned to his rocking chair, his unease evident in the frantic movement while he held a considerable-length staff in his right hand.


    ¡°Come closer, young Thamuz,¡± he commanded in a serious tone of voice. ¡°We need to analyze your performance in the fight.¡±


    Thamuz obeyed and approached Vixkard slowly, placing his arms behind his back as a sign of respect. Without warning, a sharp pain shot through his knees as Vixkard¡¯s staff struck them with precision, forcing him to kneel with a muffled cry.


    ¡°First,¡± Vixkard began sternly, ¡°I noticed every time you fell and took Korro¡¯s blows. He is neither fast nor particularly strong, so it¡¯s baffling that you allowed so many hits. Were you holding back, or is that really how you fight?¡±


    Thamuz remained silent, seeking his father¡¯s gaze, who simply shrugged and raised his eyebrows, as if Vixkard¡¯s harshness was an everyday occurrence.


    ¡°That¡¯s just my style,¡± Thamuz finally replied. ¡°I take the hits to analyze how to counter them. Is there something wrong with that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s extremely dangerous,¡± Vixkard declared. ¡°There are opponents who aim to kill or end the fight with a single blow. Will you let yourself be destroyed just to understand their technique?¡±


    ¡°My body can withstand it,¡± Thamuz protested, his eyes burning with determination. ¡°I¡¯ve defeated two opponents with murderous intentions. My method works.¡±


    Vixkard perceived the unshakable conviction in Thamuz¡¯s voice. He exhaled deeply as he adjusted his grip on the staff.


    ¡°If your destiny is to end up paralyzed after every fight, I can¡¯t stop you,¡± he conceded. ¡°But I can turn that resilience into something greater, more enduring than a mountain.¡±


    Tawnylon approached his son, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°It seems you¡¯re gradually discovering your own path in combat,¡± he observed, directing his gaze toward Vixkard. ¡°I trust you¡¯ll be able to impart all your knowledge to him.¡±


    ¡°I hope so, though your son promises to be a challenging student,¡± Vixkard replied, rising from his rocking chair. ¡°That¡¯s enough for today; the fight was exhausting.¡±


    Like a shadow dissolving into the breeze, Vixkard retreated into his house and disappeared. Tawnylon followed shortly after.


    ¡°I need to rest,¡± Tawnylon murmured, rubbing his eyes. ¡°You should join me, Thamuz.¡±


    Thamuz nodded and followed his father, bidding farewell to Korro, who took a different path.


    In the room, father and son settled into their respective beds, adopting peculiar but comfortable postures in the cramped space. They closed their eyes, letting sleep envelop them as they anticipated the days of improvement awaiting Thamuz under Vixkard¡¯s tutelage.

 Chapter 39: Bonfire

    It was nighttime when Thamuz slowly began to open his eyes. Darkness enveloped him, momentarily disorienting him until his pupils adjusted to the dim light. As he turned his head, he noticed his father¡¯s bed was empty, the disheveled sheets the only evidence of his previous presence.


    "Where could my father have gone?" he wondered as he sat up with heavy movements.


    He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, letting out a deep yawn that betrayed the exhaustion still lingering in his body. The wounds and bruises from his confrontation with Korro had healed significantly; only a few superficial cuts and scrapes remained, gradually fading from his face and body.


    With renewed energy, Thamuz stood up and made his way to the door of his room. As he wandered through the silent hallways of the house, he passed by Vixkard''s room. The old man was fast asleep, snoring loudly as he hugged a pillow like it was a treasure.


    Something in the room caught his attention: a photograph carefully protected in a glass case, adorned with a frame of radiant stones. The image depicted a woman of extraordinary beauty, with orange hair and peculiarly small horns, similar to those of a Yhamak child. Her warm, welcoming smile seemed to light up the entire photograph.


    A loud snore from Vixkard startled Thamuz, prompting him to move away from the room.


    As he walked toward the courtyard, he noticed a growing warmth in the air. Upon arrival, he found his father and Korro sitting by a crackling campfire. Behind them lay the lifeless body of an imposing beast.


    The creature, massive in build, bore a deep cut along its side that exposed ribs and muscles. Its limbs, thick as tree trunks, ended in sharp claws, and its mouth was filled with pointed teeth. Two tentacles covered in spines jutted out from its sides, completing its fearsome appearance.


    Tawnylon and Korro, focused on the fire, used the beast''s sturdy scales as a surface to cook meat suspended over the flames on makeshift grills. Both men looked up as they noticed Thamuz standing at the entrance to the courtyard, watching them with curiosity.


    "Hello, son," greeted Tawnylon, stifling a small yawn. "Care to join us?"


    "It would be my pleasure," replied Thamuz, stepping forward to take a seat by the comforting fire.


    Korro grabbed one of the scales holding the meat, completely ignoring its blistering temperature, and began devouring its contents ravenously.


    "What is that?" Thamuz asked, pointing at the beast lying behind them.


    "This is a Grhunthar. They are large and ferocious nocturnal beasts," Tawnylon explained as he picked up one of the scales serving as a plate. "But they are also delicious if cooked with their scales and some spices. Here, son, try it."


    Thamuz grabbed the scale and moved it frantically, feeling the intense heat radiating from it. His fingers burned as he tried to cool it by blowing on it.


    "Eat it while it¡¯s hot; it¡¯s more delicious that way," Tawnylon remarked.


    When the scale reached a tolerable temperature, Thamuz took a piece of the meat, which melted at the touch. He brought it to his mouth and began chewing, adjusting to its peculiar texture.


    "See?" said Tawnylon. "How is it?"


    Thamuz continued chewing, gradually discovering he liked the taste. He took another piece and began devouring it, his long tongue licking his lips to avoid wasting a single morsel.


    "It¡¯s delicious, the best thing I¡¯ve tasted so far," he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Where did you find an animal like that?"


    "I got hungry early this morning and went to hunt it outside the city," Tawnylon explained, showing his forearm, which bore a deep claw wound. "It put up quite a fight."


    Thamuz looked surprised and concerned about his father¡¯s nonchalance regarding his injuries, but he felt reassured when Korro pulled out a large bottle filled with bandamenas water and poured a glass for Tawnylon.


    "Thanks," said Tawnylon after drinking. "I feel much better now."


    Korro filled another glass and offered it to Thamuz, who accepted it and drank, feeling the refreshing liquid soothe his throat and restore his vitality.


    "Seriously, Vixkard has to explain how he grows such potent bandamenas flowers. I¡¯ve never felt anything like this," Thamuz commented, glancing toward the garden.


    "Speaking of the old man, did you see if he was asleep or awake?" Korro asked.


    "Yeah, when I came out here, he was asleep, clutching a pillow," Thamuz replied, taking another sip. "Although I saw something that caught my attention¡ªa photo of a woman. Saying she looked beautiful would be an understatement."


    Tawnylon, sipping his water, looked at his son upon hearing him mention a woman. He lowered the glass and rested it on one of his legs.


    "Do you two want to know who that beautiful woman is?" Tawnylon asked, as if expecting an answer.


    Thamuz and Korro exchanged glances and nodded, responding to Tawnylon¡¯s question. He leaned back, placing his hands on the ground behind him, and gazed at the starry sky.


    "That woman was Vixkard¡¯s wife. Her name was Ellie, Ellie Benavides. She was as sweet as the ripest fruit of the season and as warm as the liveliest flame one could imagine. She came from a wealthy family and was captivated by the different ways people behaved. She never judged or felt repulsion toward those less fortunate than her¡ªshe was simply someone with a kind heart," Tawnylon began recounting. "Her curiosity about people made her fall madly in love with Vixkard¡ªwell, back when he was young and dazzling, of course. How they met is a mystery to me. Everything I¡¯m telling you is based on what Vixkard shared with me back when he was still my mentor¡ªand when Ellie was still alive."You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    "She¡¯s dead?" Thamuz asked.


    "Yes, she passed away, but it was a quiet departure," Tawnylon explained. "An illness was silently taking her life. Yet, every time I saw her, she always had that characteristic smile on her face, showcasing her quality as a person. I even came to see her as a mother during my time in Vixkard¡¯s combat stables. It was devastating when I heard she had died. I had never seen Vixkard so enraged, so sorrowful, and so weak."


    Thamuz and Korro exchanged glances again as they listened to Tawnylon¡¯s story, their gazes eventually returning to the blazing fire that grew stronger with every passing minute.


    "But it wasn¡¯t all sadness and despair. Vixkard managed to have a daughter with Ellie before she passed. A daughter who completely changed him¡ªso much so that he left the city¡¯s outskirts, abandoning the shamonak life and all distractions to focus solely on raising her. From that moment, I didn¡¯t see him again until now," Tawnylon concluded.


    Tawnylon grabbed another scale and devoured all the meat inside it, as though he had just recounted a casual story, though it weighed heavily on the minds of the two young men.


    "I never knew that part of your story, Father," Thamuz said, surprise evident in his voice.


    "There¡¯s much more you don¡¯t know about me. I¡¯ll tell you everything when the time is right," Tawnylon replied, tossing the scale behind him. "You know, I¡¯ve been talking with your friend, Korro, about our stories. It seems we¡¯re not so different."


    "Though I was smart enough to take the easy road instead of the hard one," Korro added, devouring another scale and drinking from the bandamenas water.


    "Everyone is responsible for their own actions. You chose the easy path but now find yourself in a difficult situation, whereas I took the hard path and eventually lived an easy life. After a life of suffering comes an end¡ªit could be bad or good, but it¡¯s still an end," Tawnylon said, sighing as he closed his eyes.


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    "Yes, sure, very clear," Korro said, growling between his teeth. "I hope that ''end'' comes very soon for me, accompanied by lots of pamtan and houses in the city''s high zone."


    The time they spent together passed slowly, the stars of the night fading with each word and story the three men shared. Tawnylon spoke about his family, memories of his past, his earlier battles, how he met Aolani, and even moments when he cared for Thamuz as a small child. Meanwhile, Korro recounted his past as well, narrating events and incidents from his criminal career. Although these tales were not to Thamuz and Tawnylon¡¯s liking, they were nonetheless intriguing due to the perspective of someone who had far fewer opportunities than they did.


    As story after story unfolded, the stars vanished from the sky, which began to glow faintly. The colors of orange blended with red, signaling that morning was reaching its peak.


    The beast they had hunted was picked clean to the bone, with scraps of meat still clinging to its skull and the other side of its ribcage.


    The three had fallen asleep after telling tales and eating without restraint, only to be awakened by the sound of trumpets and what seemed like someone striking a wooden pillar with a staff.


    They abruptly woke up and stood, looking around to find the source of the noise. It was Vixkard, blowing the trumpet with his back turned to them.


    "Wake up!" he shouted, striking the wooden pillar next to him harder with his staff.


    Thamuz immediately realized that Vixkard thought they were still asleep inside the house. He approached Vixkard and slowly extended his hand to touch his shoulder. In response, Vixkard spun around and struck Thamuz¡¯s face with the staff. At that precise moment, the staff broke in half, leaving Vixkard stunned.


    "Who¡¯s there?" Vixkard exclaimed, confusion evident in his voice.


    "It¡¯s me, Mr. Vixkard, Thamuz," he explained, rubbing his face where he had been hit.


    "Oh, Thamuz. Right, kid. What are you doing here?" Vixkard asked.


    "Don¡¯t you remember? You said we could stay, and that you¡¯d teach us about the shamonak. Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve forgotten," Thamuz replied.


    Vixkard seemed to scrutinize Thamuz with skepticism, his scar contracting in a gesture that reflected his doubt. Then his expression softened entirely, and he smiled.


    "Right, I forgot about that," Vixkard admitted.


    "Vixkard isn¡¯t used to waking up this early, which causes him a brief moment of memory loss," Tawnylon whispered into Korro¡¯s ear, carefully observing the clumsy movements of his former master.


    Vixkard adjusted his wrinkled clothing and headed toward the yard with unsteady steps. He descended the stairs with extreme caution, leaning on Thamuz as if the young man were his makeshift cane. Upon reaching the ground, he placed his hands on his hips and inhaled deeply, allowing the scents of the environment to fill his senses.


    "Judging by the smell, you¡¯ve been grilling meat, and you didn¡¯t save me a single bite," Vixkard remarked as he approached Tawnylon and Korro with a firmer stride. "The aroma tells me it¡¯s you two, without a doubt."


    "Exactly," they responded in unison, exchanging knowing glances.


    Vixkard walked past them and made his way to the improvised combat arena. With precise movements, he kicked the sandy ground, raising a cloud of dust until a sizeable hole formed at the center.


    "Come, Thamuz. Your first training session begins now," Vixkard announced, positioning himself next to the newly created pit.


    Thamuz obeyed the command and approached the designated spot, curiously inspecting the excavation before him.


    "What¡¯s the purpose of this hole?" Thamuz inquired, suspicion evident in his voice.


    "Step inside," Vixkard ordered firmly.


    Despite his misgivings, Thamuz complied, standing in the hole with his feet together and hands on his hips. He had barely begun to voice his next question when Vixkard started kicking sand, methodically covering his legs up to the middle of his shins.


    Suddenly, Vixkard walked away toward a small cabin in the yard. From within came the sounds of objects falling and the master¡¯s own exclamations.


    Tawnylon and Korro approached Thamuz, who remained motionless, arms crossed, with a puzzled expression.


    "What¡¯s he planning with all this?" Thamuz asked his companions.


    "I don¡¯t know, son. This is the first time I¡¯ve witnessed training like this," Tawnylon replied, mimicking his posture. "Though I must admit, your current situation is rather peculiar."


    Korro examined Thamuz closely, circling him while humming an unsettling melody. Suddenly, his eyes widened with recognition and concern.


    "It can¡¯t be... could it be that kind of training?" Korro murmured in a trembling voice.


    "What exactly do you mean?" Thamuz asked, lowering his arms, his unease growing.


    "You mentioned that your style is based on taking hits to learn how to counterattack, right? Vixkard has a special method for that. I once saw one of his students undergo this same training... he didn¡¯t last long before succumbing to the pain," Korro explained, his voice laden with apprehension.


    The creak of the cabin door interrupted their conversation. Vixkard emerged, holding an imposing whip with multiple straps ending in small daggers, designed to tear flesh with deadly precision.


    "Let¡¯s see if your philosophy of taking hits to counterattack holds up to the test," Vixkard declared with a grim smile, as the whip writhed menacingly in his hands.

 Chapter 40: control

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    Thamuz felt his blood run cold as he gazed at the weapon Vixkard held in his calloused hands. It was no ordinary whip: its modifications turned it into an instrument of terror, with gleaming daggers strategically placed along its length, designed specifically to tear flesh with brutal efficiency.


    ¡°Well, good luck, son,¡± Tawnylon said, his voice tinged with worry and resignation as he gently squeezed his son''s shoulder. ¡°I hope Vixkard won¡¯t be too harsh on you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± Thamuz muttered, his voice betraying the fear he was trying to hide.


    Tawnylon and Korro retreated to the stone stairs of the house, where they took a seat to observe the scene about to unfold. Vixkard stood in front of Thamuz, making the whip dance in the air with fluid, deliberate movements, a sardonic smile etched on his weathered face.


    ¡°Do you know what this is, young Thamuz?¡± Vixkard inquired, his eyes fixed on his pupil.


    ¡°According to what my mother taught me, it¡¯s a whip,¡± Thamuz replied, striving to maintain his composure. ¡°It¡¯s used to herd beasts when they¡¯re reluctant to obey.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Vixkard nodded. ¡°But while ordinary whips are designed to cause discomfort in beasts, this one is a masterpiece of war. It was gifted to me by an old friend, a general in King Khumulak¡¯s army.¡± He paused dramatically. ¡°And do you know the most extraordinary feature of whips?¡±


    Thamuz searched his mind for an answer that didn¡¯t come. He ended up shaking his head, aware of his ignorance.


    ¡°Very well, observe,¡± Vixkard declared. With expert precision, he raised the whip and cracked it with such power that the very air seemed to split near Thamuz. ¡°With the right force, they¡¯re capable of breaking the sound barrier.¡±


    The demonstration left Thamuz slack-jawed, but it was the deafening crack that truly shook him. Even Korro and Tawnylon, from their position on the stairs, flinched at the intensity of the sound.


    ¡°This brings me to ask,¡± Thamuz said, rubbing his ear with his pinky, ¡°what is the real purpose of this training?¡±


    ¡°Your fighting style,¡± Vixkard explained, expertly coiling the whip in his right hand, ¡°could be considered suicidal, though somehow you manage to make it work. However, in the shamonak battles, you¡¯ll face opponents whose speed exceeds the sound barrier when they attack.¡± He paused significantly. ¡°That¡¯s why you must master a crucial passive skill: muscle control.


    ¡°Muscle control?¡± Thamuz repeated, his face reflecting curiosity at the unfamiliar term.


    ¡°Yes. Let¡¯s start with a simple demonstration. Pinch your bicep,¡± Vixkard instructed, his voice laden with experience.


    Thamuz obeyed, pinching the flesh of his arm firmly. Sharp pain spread through the area, and when he let go, a reddish mark lingered as evidence on his dark skin.


    ¡°What did you feel?¡± Vixkard inquired, carefully observing his pupil¡¯s reaction.


    ¡°Pain,¡± Thamuz replied curtly. ¡°I felt pain.¡±


    ¡°Good. Now flex your bicep until it¡¯s fully tense and pinch it again,¡± Vixkard ordered, anticipation gleaming in his eyes.


    Thamuz tightened the muscle until it was as hard as steel. When he pinched it again, his eyes widened in surprise¡ªthe pain had almost completely vanished.


    ¡°Muscle control seems simple, like what you just did,¡± Vixkard explained, his tone becoming instructive. ¡°But what I want is for you to develop this skill instinctively. Your body must respond automatically to any blow, hardening like living armor. This will allow you to endure long enough to study your opponent and find their weaknesses.¡±


    ¡°Is that why my feet are buried in the sand?¡± Thamuz asked, beginning to grasp the methodology behind this strange lesson.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Vixkard confirmed with a treacherous smile. ¡°I¡¯m going to hit you with this whip until you master muscle control. If your feet leave the sand, you lose.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Thamuz replied, his voice taking on a grave tone of determination.


    ¡°We begin now. Get ready,¡± Vixkard warned, raising the whip in a fluid motion.


    ¡°Wait, I have a¡ª¡± Thamuz couldn¡¯t finish his question. The air split with a deafening crack as the whip struck his chest.


    The daggers sank into his flesh like steel fangs. When Vixkard withdrew the weapon, the blades tore through Thamuz¡¯s skin, unleashing a crimson torrent. A harrowing scream escaped his throat as one of his legs lifted involuntarily from the pain, but the other remained firmly anchored in the sand.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky,¡± Vixkard commented with professional calm, listening to his pupil¡¯s spasms of pain. ¡°One foot in the sand still counts as valid.¡±


    Thamuz, clutching his wounded chest, stared in horror at the lacerated flesh pulsing to the rhythm of his racing heart. Blood flowed profusely, but in an instinctive act, he tensed the muscles around the wound, significantly reducing the bleeding.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Impressive,¡± Vixkard acknowledged, noting the sudden cessation of the blood flow and the faint sound of muscles tightening. ¡°That¡¯s the muscle control we aim to awaken in you, though for now, you¡¯re only using it as an improvised tourniquet.¡±


    Thamuz panted heavily, pain coursing through every fiber of his being as he re-anchored his leg into the sand. His feet clung to the ground like roots, his gaze fixed on Vixkard, who kept his arm raised, poised to deliver another brutal strike.


    The air cracked again with a thunderous snap as the whip found Thamuz¡¯s shoulder. This time, as the cold bite of the daggers pierced his flesh, he instinctively tensed his muscles, trapping the blades in his body.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Vixkard murmured, a crooked smile forming on his face as he felt the whip resist his pull. ¡°You¡¯re contracting your muscles to trap the daggers. A... less-than-ideal strategy.¡±


    With a sharp tug, Vixkard yanked the whip with devastating force, ripping the daggers free from Thamuz¡¯s flesh and leaving bloody gashes in their wake. Thamuz¡¯s scream tore through the air as he battled the primal urge to flee from the pain, his iron will keeping him rooted in the sand.


    ¡°When something sharp penetrates your body,¡± Vixkard explained, idly playing with the bloodied daggers, ¡°tensing your muscles to hold it in place is a fatal mistake. Your opponent can exploit that, amplifying the damage.¡±


    Foamy saliva spilled from Thamuz¡¯s mouth, yet he remained steadfast. He dropped to one knee, spreading his arms wide as if offering his chest as a voluntary target.


    Vixkard kept his arm aloft for what felt like an eternity, long enough for Thamuz to begin lowering his guard. That was when the whip struck again, slicing through the air to land on his right calf. The daggers tore mercilessly into the muscle.


    The world wavered beneath Thamuz¡¯s feet. Blood loss was taking its toll, his vision blurring intermittently, but he refused to collapse. He crouched, nearly squatting, his teeth grinding under the strain.


    ¡°Hold on, son! Don¡¯t let a mere whip defeat you!¡± Tawnylon¡¯s voice rang out from the stairs, sweat glistening on his brow.


    ¡°I never imagined seeing Thamuz endure such a trial,¡± Korro muttered, unconsciously clutching his chest. ¡°Just imagining the pain chills my blood.¡±


    Vixkard made the whip dance in the air with hypnotic movements while Thamuz slowly rose to his feet, his eyes tracking every undulation of the weapon with calculated intensity.


    "The first rule of combat is to never lower your guard," Vixkard stated, marking a mysterious rhythm with his foot. "Your enemy can always have a trick up their sleeve."


    The whip roared once more, and Thamuz, by reflex, tensed the front muscles of his body. His mistake became painfully clear in an instant as the daggers bit deeply into his unprotected back.


    Vixkard felt the same resistance as before when the daggers sank into Thamuz''s back. He smiled and shook his head, preparing to yank the whip with a brutal pull. However, his smile faded when he realized the weapon remained immobile, as if trapped in solid rock.


    Thamuz, exerting extraordinary muscular control, kept the daggers locked in his back. A defiant smile spread across his bloodied face as he watched Vixkard¡¯s futile attempts to free his weapon. Only when he chose to relax his muscles did the daggers slide free without resistance.


    "The back is the optimal place to take hits," Vixkard remarked, waving the whip. "Evolution has favored us by eliminating the nerve points in that area."


    Just as the whip was about to lash out again, the world seemed to freeze. Everything stopped except for Thamuz, who watched the whip advancing toward him with an unreal slowness.


    "If I were you, I wouldn''t let myself get hit so freely," the familiar voice of the demon echoed in his mind.


    Thamuz''s eyes darkened with anger as he recognized the intrusion. "What are you doing here? I''m training."


    "You call being torn apart like a beast training?" the demon replied with sarcasm. "Although I must point out something concerning."


    "Speak quickly," Thamuz snapped.


    "This ''charming'' training is bleeding you dry," the demon explained with biting irony. "Do you know what happens to someone who loses this much blood?"


    "They die?" Thamuz answered flatly.


    "Exactly. You''re on the brink of death, even if you don''t feel it. Allow me to help you," the demon said, materializing his skeletal hands over Thamuz''s eyes.


    The icy touch of those bony fingers made Thamuz shudder. He tried to break free, but the demon''s supernatural strength overpowered him.


    "I don''t need your help!" Thamuz protested.


    "Relax," the demon whispered in his ear. "I won¡¯t give you extra power. I''ll simply teach you to anticipate blows and tense your muscles at the precise moment. Are you willing?"


    Thamuz hesitated, fully aware of the risks of accepting demonic help. Yet, recognizing that his current condition could permanently incapacitate him for combat, he nodded with resignation.


    "Good. Now listen carefully," the demon whispered in an icy tone.


    Time resumed its normal flow with a devastating snap, and the daggers found their way between Thamuz''s ribs. The pain forced a choked growl from him as he spat a mixture of saliva and blood, feeling the blades tear his flesh as they withdrew.


    "Did you hear that snap?" the demon inquired.


    "Yes. What causes it?" Thamuz murmured between gasps.


    "It¡¯s the sound of the whip breaking the sound barrier, as you¡¯ve been told. That snap can be your signal to prepare. You just need to listen and, at the precise moment..."


    "Tense my muscles to block it," Thamuz finished, finally understanding.


    "Exactly. You learn quickly," the demon approved.


    The spectral hands remained over Thamuz''s eyes, forcing him to rely solely on his hearing. When the next snap tore through the air, Thamuz tensed every muscle in his body. The daggers met an unyielding resistance, and instead of sinking into his flesh, they fell to the ground as if they had struck granite.


    Vixkard watched with interest as his daggers failed to penetrate Thamuz¡¯s hardened flesh. "Impressive. You¡¯ve finally managed to block one of my strikes," he acknowledged with a whistle of approval.


    From the stairs, Tawnylon and Korro watched in amazement as Thamuz responded to each whip crack with increasing precision. The training continued for hours, and although some wounds still broke through, the damage had significantly diminished.


    "You¡¯ve reached your limit for today," the demon announced, withdrawing his icy hands.


    Thamuz remained standing in the arena, his body covered in bleeding wounds but upright with pride. The injuries, though severe, were far less debilitating than they would have been without his newfound muscular control.


    Vixkard coiled the whip with expert movements. "You¡¯ve mastered the basics of muscular control with surprising speed, but this is only the beginning," he declared, resting the weapon on his sore shoulder. "Drink bandamenas water for your wounds. Tomorrow¡¯s training will be less forgiving."


    As Vixkard walked toward the house, massaging his exhausted arm, Thamuz finally let himself collapse onto his back. His arms sprawled out over the sand as deep sighs of pain and relief escaped his battered chest. With his last reserves of energy, he watched his father and Korro approach him with a pitcher of bandamenas water and a wooden cup.

 Chapter 41: strength

    Thamuz slowly emerged from unconsciousness, his heavy eyelids gradually revealing the familiar image of his room. Beside him, Tawnylon sat on a carved wooden chair, one leg crossed over the other, intently scrutinizing a parchment.


    ¡°Father...¡± Thamuz whispered weakly.


    Tawnylon immediately lowered the missive and turned his attention to his son, who extended a trembling hand toward him. Without hesitation, the father intertwined his fingers with his son''s, conveying warmth and strength through that simple gesture.


    ¡°Hello, son. How are you feeling?¡± Tawnylon asked while gently stroking Thamuz''s hair.


    ¡°In pain, Father, so much pain,¡± he replied with a faint groan.


    ¡°It¡¯s understandable. Rarely have I seen such a brutal training session, but at least you¡¯ve learned fundamental techniques that could save your life in combat,¡± Tawnylon reflected.


    Thamuz examined his battered body, wrapped in bandages that extended from his chest to his back. The wrappings emitted a sharp scent and were soaked in a mysterious liquid.


    ¡°What is this?¡± he asked, puzzled.


    ¡°These are bandages infused with bandamenas water to speed up your recovery,¡± Tawnylon explained, reaching for a crystal glass on the bedside table. ¡°Drink some more; it will help you greatly.¡±


    With great effort and his father''s support, Thamuz managed to sit up on the edge of the bed. The twilight filtered through the window, bathing the room in shades of purple and gold.


    Tawnylon gently held his son¡¯s chin as he helped him drink the bandamenas water, ensuring every drop was used until the glass was empty.


    ¡°What time is it, Father?¡± Thamuz asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s already dusk, son. See how the shadows stretch over our land,¡± Tawnylon replied in a calm voice.


    Though the pain lingered, Thamuz slowly stood up, feeling the soothing effect of the bandamenas water coursing through his body. He placed a hand on his chest, where the whip''s impacts had left their deepest mark, and hobbled toward the window to watch the night¡¯s veil gradually cover the landscape.


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    "They will be fine, especially your mother. She knows I am with you, so there¡¯s nothing for her to worry about. In fact, I¡¯ve been writing her a letter, even including our address," Tawnylon replied, resuming his examination of the parchment in his hands.


    "Can I see it?" Thamuz asked, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.


    "Of course," Tawnylon nodded, extending the document.


    Thamuz approached and took the letter carefully. As he examined it, his face twisted in confusion; the content seemed to be a tangle of scribbles and deformed symbols with an ancient appearance.


    "I can¡¯t make sense of this, Father," he admitted, handing the missive back.


    "It¡¯s a secret code your mother and I created to communicate during our youth," Tawnylon explained with a nostalgic smile. "In those days, the guards monitored my every move to prevent me from approaching her. So, I began writing letters that looked like mere ink tests, but in reality, each scribble and drawing was a letter meant for her. I would crumple them and leave them in trash baskets near the palace. Your mother recognized them by a small drop of paint marking the edges."


    "Why keep using that code now? Her father is no longer around to stop you from communicating," Thamuz questioned.


    "It¡¯s something intimate that we still do, a way to keep our love alive," Tawnylon replied, folding the letter with reverent care.


    "I see," murmured Thamuz, returning to his bed.


    "It¡¯s time to rest, son. Vixkard mentioned you¡¯ll resume training when the sun begins to scorch the skin," Tawnylon announced as he made his way to his own bed.


    "Do you know what kind of training it will be?" Thamuz inquired.


    "There¡¯s no way to know. Vixkard is unpredictable in his methods. When I was his student, he might order endurance exercises one day and focus on strength the next. All we can do is wait," Tawnylon explained, settling on his side. "Sleep well, son."


    "You too, Father," Thamuz replied, turning toward the wall.


    The hours passed as the night cloaked the room in its frigid veil. Thamuz curled up, trying to shield himself from the cold seeping through his slowly healing wounds.


    The first rays of dawn roused Thamuz, stinging his weary eyes. The morning heat compelled him to sit up, releasing a yawn so long it seemed his jaw might unhinge.


    Turning his gaze, he noticed his father¡¯s bed was empty, as usual. Surely, he was already in the courtyard.


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    With notable effort, Thamuz rose from his bed and headed toward the courtyard. This time, the pain had subsided enough to allow him to walk with relative ease.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    As he crossed the main hall of the house, he spotted Korro in the distance. The young man was repeatedly striking one of the massive stone pillars that shamonak fighters used to strengthen their palm strikes. The intensity of his training was such that his hands had begun to bleed.


    Thamuz approached the training area and observed Vixkard, who was seated in a rocking chair, wrapped in blankets, and seemingly overseeing Korro¡¯s practice.


    ¡°Good morning, Mr. Vixkard. I¡¯m ready for the next training,¡± Thamuz announced, his voice carrying renewed vigor.


    However, Vixkard remained motionless, giving no indication he had noticed Thamuz¡¯s presence. Puzzled by the silence, Thamuz tried to get his attention again, but to no avail. Stepping closer to the elderly man, he discovered Vixkard was fast asleep, emitting loud snores.


    ¡°He always falls asleep at the most convenient moments,¡± Korro¡¯s voice rang out from a distance. ¡°Let me wake him.¡±


    Without further ado, Korro picked up a small stone from the ground and hurled it with precision at Vixkard. The projectile struck the elder squarely on the forehead, jolting him awake. His head darted in all directions as he searched for the culprit.


    ¡°What? Who? What happened? Who did that?¡± Vixkard stammered, his voice still thick with sleep.


    ¡°You old sleepyhead, Thamuz has been trying to talk to you for a while! He¡¯s ready for training!¡± Korro shouted.


    Vixkard seemed momentarily confused, but as he sensed the presence before him, he understood the situation. With laborious movements, he rose from the chair and stood before Thamuz.


    ¡°Good morning, young Thamuz. Forgive the delay; my old body can no longer stay awake for long,¡± Vixkard apologized. ¡°However, I still have enough energy to begin your next training.¡±


    With these words, Vixkard descended the stone steps leading to the courtyard, closely followed by Thamuz, until they reached the combat arena where Korro continued his practice with the stone pillar.


    ¡°Go on, young Thamuz, position yourself in front of that stone,¡± Vixkard instructed, absentmindedly pointing in the wrong direction.


    Understanding the intent despite the mistaken gesture, Thamuz made his way to the pillar and positioned himself before it, observing the bloodstains left by Korro¡¯s palms.


    ¡°Do you know the name of these stones?¡± Vixkard asked as he heard Thamuz¡¯s footsteps pause.


    ¡°I remember my father made me train with one when I first began shamonak, but I¡¯ve forgotten its name,¡± Thamuz replied, running his fingers over the rough surface of the rock.


    ¡°They¡¯re called Bonkam. They are fundamental for those starting in shamonak combat¡ªperfect for developing the power of our strikes,¡± Vixkard explained.


    ¡°So that¡¯s what they¡¯re called,¡± Thamuz murmured, lightly tapping the stone with his knuckles.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s basic, but I want you to perform a simple exercise with it,¡± Vixkard said, stepping beside Thamuz. ¡°I want you to strike it.¡±


    Thamuz nodded, preparing to deliver the blow. He adopted a stance that would allow him to harness all his strength, and with an outstretched palm, he unleashed the built-up pressure in a single strike that echoed throughout the courtyard, even reaching Korro¡¯s training area.


    ¡°Excellent. That was a great palm strike, but it¡¯s missing something. You need to use your muscles to their fullest capacity,¡± Vixkard pointed out.


    ¡°I see, muscle control, right?¡± Thamuz asked.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Vixkard confirmed. ¡°If you tense your muscles at the precise moment of impact, you can generate much greater damage.¡±


    ¡°So I haven¡¯t been striking with my full strength this entire time?¡± Thamuz wondered aloud.


    The question echoed in his mind as a faint smile appeared on his face. He turned to face the stone again, preparing himself once more, this time focusing on pushing his muscles to their limit, feeling the tension pulse beneath his skin.


    In an instant, his strike hit the stone like lightning, producing a thunderous sound akin to an explosion that could be heard outside the house, startling passersby.


    Vixkard burst into laughter, clapping with a vigor uncharacteristic of his age.


    ¡°Bravo, Thamuz! That¡¯s how a strike should be executed!¡± he exclaimed.


    As the dust cloud cleared, the stone was revealed, nearly split in two, crumbling slowly.


    ¡°My apologies, Mr. Vixkard. I think I¡¯ve destroyed your Bonkam,¡± Thamuz said, embarrassed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that; I have more stored away. What you¡¯ve achieved is extraordinary¡ªfew of my students have managed to break a Bonkam with a single strike,¡± Vixkard reassured him. ¡°But now, a new challenge awaits.¡±


    "Which one is it?" asked Thamuz curiously.


    The sound of heavy footsteps drew everyone''s attention to the courtyard entrance. There stood Tawnylon, carrying on his shoulders a colossal bonkam stone that tripled his already imposing height of three meters.


    "Here''s the stone you requested, Vixkard," announced Tawnylon as he deposited the gigantic block on the ground.


    The stone stood out for its peculiar bluish coloration, which contrasted notably with the characteristic blackness of common bonkam. Its surface was covered with runic inscriptions forming a pattern of horizontal lines crossed by straight strokes, similar to a plus sign.


    "Thank you. Now come, Thamuz," indicated Vixkard.


    Thamuz advanced toward the stone alongside Vixkard, greeting his father as he passed. Upon reaching the monolith, he extended a hand to check its consistency.


    The texture was incredibly rough, similar to touching carbonized grass. The roughness was such that Thamuz instinctively withdrew his hand, closing his fist with discomfort.


    "These are special bonkam stones, reserved for those most advanced in shamonak," explained Vixkard, positioning himself behind Thamuz. "Hitting it is like striking a bag full of sharp, dense rocks. This will be your training today: you will strike until your hands break."


    Thamuz swallowed at these words but accepted the challenge. He adopted the same previous posture, tensing his muscles to the maximum, until the air vibrated with another sonic boom as his strike connected.


    This time no dust rose; it was a dry impact that caused Thamuz to instantly retract his hand to examine it.


    "It''s extremely hard," he muttered, flexing his fingers cautiously.


    The pain was intense, but he strived to maintain composure. Without hesitation, he returned to his attack position.


    Another boom resonated, more powerful than the previous one, but barely managed to raise a thin layer of dust around.


    Strike after strike, the stone remained intact, while his hands became covered in increasingly deeper lacerations.


    He momentarily stopped to examine his palms, now swollen and reddened from the continuous violent impacts against the colossal rock.


    Tawnylon approached and poured bandamenas water over his injured hands. Thamuz simultaneously felt the sting and relief of the healing liquid.


    "This will accelerate your recovery, son. Continue with the training," indicated Tawnylon before retiring alongside Vixkard, where both remained with crossed arms.


    The two masters attentively observed how Thamuz intensified the force of his strikes against the rock, while Vixkard kept in mind the next lesson he should impart.

 chapter 42: weak point

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    The hours had passed, and the sun was once again hiding behind the horizon. The sound of labored breathing and the body heat of Thamuz filled the air as he knelt with his arms extended at his sides.


    His hands were in a complete mess: his nails had been torn off, cuts grazed his palms, and bruises covered his fingers.


    The bonkam stone still stood, with small scratches barely noticeable to the eye, so much so that it seemed as if it had not taken any damage at all.


    Even so, Thamuz rose again and began striking the rock, this time with no strength or energy left, causing him to fall to his knees once more, gasping for air.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done enough for today,¡± Vixkard¡¯s voice echoed in his ears. ¡°Let¡¯s leave this for now and focus on your recovery.¡±


    Vixkard left the scene with his arms crossed, heading back to his house, while Thamuz watched him disappear. Even so, he stood up again and struck the rock.


    Tawnylon approached him and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it firmly as Thamuz turned his head to look at his father with a hint of defiance.


    ¡°You¡¯ve heard the old man. Stop hitting the rock, just look at your hands,¡± Tawnylon remarked.


    Thamuz glanced at his hands and saw them so battered they were barely recognizable. He stood, struggling to catch his breath, and made his way to the stone stairs, where he sat, staring at that rock that still stood as if all his efforts had been for nothing.


    Korro approached Thamuz and sat beside him, observing the defeated posture of his companion, but also noticing a glint of fury in his demeanor.


    ¡°You know, the fact that you kept hitting that rock for so long is really impressive,¡± he said, trying to encourage his friend. ¡°If I¡¯d been hitting it, I would¡¯ve broken my arms on the first strike.¡±


    But Thamuz glanced at him briefly before lowering his head again, staring at his hands and clenching them tightly, causing them to bleed.


    ¡°That stone has to fall,¡± he said through gritted teeth, hatred lacing his voice.


    Tawnylon approached them and knelt in front of his son, studying the way Thamuz was trying to calm himself.


    ¡°Tell me, son, how does defeat feel to you?¡± Tawnylon asked.


    "Defeat? What do you mean by defeat, Father?" Thamuz questioned. "I have never lost a fight to even wonder what defeat feels like."


    Tawnylon caught his son''s message and looked back at the rock, gesturing toward it with his thumb for Thamuz to see.


    "That right there is your first defeat; it didn¡¯t even move, yet you lost against it. To me, that¡¯s defeat," he said, trying to provoke his son.


    "That isn¡¯t even a living thing I can fight. Stop saying nonsense, Father; I¡¯m not in the mood for games," Thamuz replied, lifting his head to meet his father¡¯s gaze with fierceness.


    "Defeats aren¡¯t just against a rival or someone you hate; defeats will always be present in your life in many forms, whether it¡¯s when nothing goes right or when you feel like you¡¯ve lost something important," Tawnylon said calmly. "But they aren¡¯t meant to make you feel lesser or like a failure; they¡¯re meant to make you improve."


    His father¡¯s words echoed powerfully in Thamuz¡¯s mind. The fierceness in his eyes began to cool, and his rage diminished significantly. Even so, he felt frustration within himself for being unable to complete the training.


    "I want to improve, Father," Thamuz said, his voice cracking.


    "You will, son. You¡¯ll improve greatly as long as you stay surrounded by us, so much so that you¡¯ll even surpass what I was as a fighter," Tawnylon said, spreading his arms emphatically. "But to do that, you need to learn how to handle defeat and know how to overcome it."


    "How do I do that?" Thamuz asked.


    "First, don¡¯t let that fury out on others; you could cause more harm than what was done to you. And second..." Tawnylon said, extending his hand. "Always accept the help of others when it¡¯s offered."


    Thamuz looked at his father¡¯s hand and slowly extended his own until he grasped his father¡¯s firm grip, letting out a faint groan of pain in response.


    "Let¡¯s get you some bandamena water so you can recover," Tawnylon said, walking alongside his son.


    Korro watched the two leave and let out a small sigh, perhaps out of envy as he noticed how Thamuz had the privilege of a father who was always there to support and guide him. Even so, Korro knew he needed to be strong to stand out again in the world.


    His thoughts were interrupted by the crunching sound of a fruit being bitten. He turned around and saw Vixkard slicing what seemed to be a round fruit with blue and orange stripes. Using a knife, Vixkard cut off a slice and brought it to his mouth.


    "You know, Thamuz is very resilient for someone so young," Vixkard said, gently licking the juices of the fruit left on the knife.


    "Too much, I¡¯d say," Korro added. "Although I saw him really angry when I sat next to him."


    "That¡¯s normal when you haven¡¯t experienced much in this life. Defeat is something no one wants to feel, but it¡¯s crucial for learning. Even during my first defeat as a fighter, I threw a tantrum like he did. But instead of comforting words, they calmed me down with punches," Vixkard recounted, slicing another piece of fruit.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Still, how do you think Thamuz will manage to destroy that rock?" Korro asked, curiosity evident in his voice.


    "Come, let me show you," Vixkard said, tossing the remnants of the fruit aside, where it landed on a plant, and walking toward the rock.


    Korro followed him, and they arrived at the rock, observing the imposing height that cast its shadow over them.


    "Do you know what Bonkam stones are made of?" Vixkard asked, running his hand over the rough surface of the rock.


    "No, I don¡¯t," Korro replied.


    "They¡¯re made from a special stone called maginoket. Unlike the rocks you see on paths and around you, this stone has the unique property of being up to three times heavier despite its size," Vixkard explained. "If a regular rock the size of my hand weighs five kilos, a smaller or similarly sized maginoket stone could weigh up to fifteen kilos."


    "So that¡¯s why they last so long and hurt so much when hit," Korro said, looking at one of his palms.


    "Exactly. The more weight, the more durability they have. But besides that, when gathered in large amounts¡ªand when I say large amounts, I mean something immense like this rock beside us," Vixkard emphasized, lightly knocking his knuckles against the giant Bonkam stone, "something very peculiar happens."


    "And that would be?" Korro asked, intrigued.


    "It becomes hollow, very hollow. To give you an idea, even the mere passage of wind can create a faint melody as it passes through the stone," Vixkard explained.


    "So, does that mean the only way Thamuz can destroy the rock is by whistling?" Korro asked, confused by Vixkard¡¯s explanation.


    "No, of course not. We¡¯re made for pure physical combat. energy attacks or long-range nonsense is garbage to us. What I¡¯m getting at is a small reaction," Vixkard said, placing his palm on the stone. "Hit the rock with your palm; it doesn¡¯t matter if it¡¯s hard or soft."


    Korro hesitated when he heard Vixkard¡¯s order, recalling what he had said to Thamuz about his arms breaking on the first impact. However, Vixkard¡¯s insistence made him give in, and he stepped in front of the stone, preparing to strike it with a palm strike.


    A dry thud echoed, and Korro was sent flying through the air. He had hit the rock, but its hardness instantly caused pain to his arm, making him spit out a bit of saliva from the shock as he landed on his knees on the ground.


    "It hurts quite a bit to hit it, doesn¡¯t it?" Vixkard asked, looking at Korro.


    "What do you think, old man?" Korro responded with sarcasm in his voice.


    "Alright, what did you use to hit it?" Vixkard asked.


    "A palm strike. Did you forget already?" Korro replied, thinking Vixkard was being sarcastic.


    "Exactly. And what did Thamuz use to strike the rock?" Vixkard questioned again.


    "A palm strike as well," Korro answered as he slowly got up from the ground. "What¡¯s the point of these questions?"


    "Palm strikes are designed to spread the impact and disperse the damage over a larger area. But since this rock is hollow, that dispersion dissipates over time, making palm strikes ineffective against it," Vixkard explained with a grin.


    "I see. So that¡¯s why Thamuz couldn¡¯t break it, even with his brute strength," Korro said, rubbing his chin with his hand.


    "Exactly. We need to teach him that not everything can be solved with brute force. While the roots of the shamonak have always been based on strength, it¡¯s good to modernize a bit," Vixkard said as he positioned himself in front of the rock.


    "So, how can that thing be broken?" Korro asked.


    "There¡¯s only one way: either with greater brute strength than Thamuz or with a special strike. It¡¯s simple to do, but I¡¯m not going to show you right now," Vixkard explained.


    "Come on, old man! You can¡¯t explain all those concepts and leave me wondering. At least show me a little of what it looks like," Korro protested.


    Vixkard stroked his long beard while Korro¡¯s words buzzed in his ear. He began to hum a tune and nodded his head.


    "Fine, but I¡¯ll only show you what needs to be done¡ªnot the strike itself," Vixkard replied, getting into position to demonstrate.


    Vixkard¡¯s combat stance was unusual: one hand was extended forward with the palm open, while his other hand rested by his waist with a clenched fist. However, the middle knuckle of his fist protruded above the rest, resembling a knife.


    Then, a strong breeze swept through, and Vixkard struck the stone¡ªnot as forcefully as Korro, but with enough strength to achieve what he was trying to demonstrate.


    The sound of the stone resonated, almost like a melody, but in truth, the pressure of the strike traveled within it, hitting its internal walls as if trying to escape.


    "That¡¯s what the strike is supposed to do: a small area can generate significant vibrations when it receives a blow of exact magnitude. The strike I used is called Heartshatter. It¡¯s almost the same as the original strike, but much harder to execute," said Vixkard. "That concludes the way Thamuz could destroy the stone."


    Night fell, and everyone was safely sheltered in the house, sleeping soundly and snugly, except for Thamuz, who lay awake, his mind buzzing with thoughts about the stone.


    "I¡¯ve never felt so much frustration," he muttered to himself, getting out of bed and sitting on its edge.


    He glanced at his father, who was sprawled out on his bed, snoring like a beast, his arms twitching as though lost in some dream¡ªor perhaps a nightmare.


    Thamuz got up and made his way to the yard, where he spotted the stone, still in its place, like a guardian protecting something.


    Looking at his hands, which were still healing despite the rapid effects of the Bandamenas water, he stood in front of the stone¡ªnot quite close enough to touch it, but almost within reach.


    He began throwing palm strikes into the air toward the stone. He didn¡¯t intend to hit it but rather to imitate his strikes, searching for a weak point or simply imagining a scenario where the stone crumbled under his overwhelming strength.


    At one point, he envisioned the rock taking on the form of Gigantino, Zarakel¡¯s bastard son. He recalled how Gigantino had treated Shandam, how easily he had defeated and humiliated him.


    But suddenly, the cold night air seeped into the wounds on his palms, causing Thamuz to shut his eyes in pain, his fingers retracting just as he was about to throw a palm strike.


    At that moment, a whistle echoed through the air. Thamuz immediately opened his eyes, searching for the source, but saw no one; it was just him and the stone, alone in the yard.


    Puzzled, he began striking the air again, but once more, the cold forced his fingers back, the pain causing the whistle to sound again.


    The same question gnawed at Thamuz¡¯s mind. The whistle wasn¡¯t being made by anyone. Looking at the rock, he wondered if it might somehow be producing the sound.


    He stepped closer and raised his palm, fingers retracted, stopping just centimeters before striking. Then he noticed that the wind from his movement caused the whistling sound.


    "How strange," Thamuz murmured to himself. "Could it be...?"


    An idea formed in his mind. He decided to test something and prepared to throw a palm strike with his fingers retracted, using only his wrist to hit.


    With strong conviction, Thamuz struck the stone again, delivering a devastating blow with his wrist.


    Pain surged through him at first; he grabbed his wrist with his other hand, unaccustomed to this new technique. But then his ears filled with the sound of the stone¡¯s whistle, and small fragments of debris began falling from it.


    Thamuz continued striking the stone, not with an open palm but with his wrist.

 Chapter 43: demonstration

    The rising breeze on the horizon made its presence felt in Vixkard''s establishments, making windows and doors rattle and violently swing open, while Tawnylon remained in his bed, deeply asleep and dreaming of his wife.


    A loose brick swayed in the wind until it fell with great force onto Tawnylon''s forehead, startling him immediately and making him fall from the bed, confused by what had just happened.


    He looked around and saw the fragments of the broken brick; he touched his forehead and, seeing the dust on his fingers, laughed a little at what had happened. He got up and looked through the window, hearing various gasps of extreme effort coming from the courtyard.


    Curious about this, he looked at Thamuz''s bed, noticing it was completely empty. He left the room heading towards the courtyard, observing that no one had woken up yet, and reached the doors, where he stood amazed at the sight before him.


    Thamuz was hitting Bonkam''s gigantic rock in a strange and unconventional way compared to what Tawnylon knew about shamonak: the fingers of Thamuz''s palm were retracted and he was striking with his wrist.


    This seemed to work somehow; the stone was slowly cracking, to the point of wanting to split in half. With each blow, debris flew and cracks appeared on its surface.


    Thamuz''s wrists were bleeding and bruised, but there was a slight smile on his face, as if he completely ignored the pain and only focused on making that rock fall.


    "How are you doing that, son?" asked Tawnylon, with surprise in his voice.


    Thamuz raised his head upon hearing his father''s voice speaking to him, turning until he saw him almost at his side, at which point he stopped hitting the rock to face him.


    "I don''t know, father. I felt frustrated about not being able to bring down this rock, so I trained during the night next to it, until I discovered that if I position my hand this way..." explained Thamuz, showing him the characteristic way in which he retracted his fingers and then struck with his wrist¡ª. "I can bring down this rock."


    "I had never seen that type of strike," said Tawnylon, imitating the way Thamuz retracted his fingers¡ª. "but I suppose that by hitting with the wrist, you''re striking in a more precise and controlled way; perhaps that''s helping you."


    "In a way, you''re right," Vixkard''s voice was heard behind them.


    Father and son turned to look at Vixkard, who was still wearing his sleeping pajamas and was yawning while rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.


    "That strike that Thamuz is doing..."


    Vixkard''s explanation was interrupted when he tried to go down the stairs but tripped on a step and landed face-first on the ground, raising dust behind him.


    Tawnylon ran to help him while Thamuz followed behind; both grabbed Vixkard''s arms to lift him while dusting off his clothes.


    Vixkard straightened up and gestured with his hands for them to let go. He cleared his throat and began to speak:


    "That way of striking is a variation of the regular palm strike that we know, Droxias, named after the most loyal friend of shamonak''s creator, Yhamataw. This variation is based on concentrating all the power of a strike into a single point, without the ability to disperse, to cause the maximum possible damage."


    "I had heard something like that during my days as a fighter, though I had never seen it in person, much less with my son doing it," said Tawnylon, with pride in his voice.


    "It''s a technique that''s rarely seen because modern fights are pure spectacle and to entertain people; there isn''t the same feeling of danger and desperation as in the ancient shamonak fights. Although something interests me," said Vixkard, approaching Thamuz: "how you could discover such a forgotten technique overnight."


    Thamuz related the same thing he told his father, with Vixkard showing surprise at his words. It was such a surprising coincidence that he couldn''t help but think that in his hands was another prodigy student, as Tawnylon once was.


    "So, what training comes next?" asked Thamuz, sounding somewhat tired from his efforts.


    "Today won''t be a training day, we''ll rest in a way, but not Korro; he''ll be doing something special today," said Vixkard, with a smile on his face.


    "What will it be?" Thamuz asked again.


    "Today the official shamonak fights begin; the winners of these fights will be seen and registered as certified fighters approved by the grand councils. Besides," Vixkard made a dramatic pause, "Korro once escaped from these fights under my tutorship, but with you two here, he''ll never escape."


    "What time are they?" asked Tawnylon.


    "When the sun is at its highest," replied Vixkard.


    Tawnylon looked back and observed how the sun was already starting to rise from the horizon, preparing to overshadow the moon that was slowly descending.


    "Then he needs to get up," commented Tawnylon, crossing his arms.


    "Don''t worry about that, I set him a natural alarm," said Vixkard, with some malice in his voice.


    Suddenly, screams were heard inside the house, followed by thundering footsteps as if someone was running away from something. Korro shot out of the house while behind him was a small animal, about forty centimeters long and fifteen wide. It seemed to have a shell on its back, followed by several legs around its body; its colors were a combination of blue, purple and white, with what appeared to be small protrusions sprouting from its head.


    "No, get away from me!" Korro screamed while running.


    Korro reached where Thamuz was and positioned himself behind him, hiding from the creature that was chasing him. Meanwhile, the small creature sat down in front of Thamuz''s imposing presence, turning its head from side to side while making small sounds similar to whimpers.


    Thamuz slowly crouched down and looked the creature in the eyes, then extended his two hands and carefully picked it up, as if it were a baby in his arms.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "How cute you are," said Thamuz, rubbing the creature''s head with a finger.


    "What is that thing?" asked Tawnylon, curious about the strange appearance of this being.


    "That''s an orugadorun; it''s small and harmless, but it terrifies Korro," explained Vixkard.


    "Why did you put it on my chest, you damn old man? I was having a great dream," protested Korro, with fury in his voice.


    "I hope that dream involved the official shamonak fights, because today will be the day you''re going to enter them, don''t you remember?" said Vixkard, with fierceness in his tone.


    Korro seemed confused and tried to remember the old man''s words, until finally that memory came to his mind; he opened his eyes along with his mouth, closing them immediately while moving away from Thamuz with his hands in front.


    "I didn''t know it was today; I haven''t trained much. Besides, this happens every year, I could enter next year, when I''m more prepared," Korro tried to suggest.


    "Sure, like you did that time when you escaped in previous years. I still remember it and it''s very engraved in my mind, so we''re going today or you''ll see," protested Vixkard, with anger in his voice.


    "Oh yeah? What are you going to do then if I don''t want to go?" said Korro, challenging him.


    Vixkard seemed to take the threat very seriously; if he had eyes, everyone could see the way he would look at Korro, with a rage that can rarely be witnessed.


    Vixkard whistled and the orugadorun raised its head, looking at Korro, then escaped from Thamuz''s arms and made a great leap, landing where Korro was and starting to wander around his body, getting inside his shirt and pants.


    "Alright, old man, I''ll go!" exclaimed Korro, with desperation in his voice.


    "You forced me to do this," remarked Vixkard, whistling again and making the creature stop its intrusion to walk towards him.


    With Korro''s participation secured, the four began to get ready to leave, bathing in a river near Vixkard''s house and dressing in their characteristic clothes, until they were completely prepared to leave.


    Vixkard and Korro went in a separate carriage due to the great size and weight that Thamuz and his father had, who had to go in a carriage with a beast of considerable size and strength to be able to carry them throughout the journey.


    The roads were full and lively with people walking everywhere, especially because today was going to be such a big event as the official shamonak fights. These had a great influence on the economy and on the way people entertained themselves from the monotony of daily life, so much so that all official economic activity stopped in certain parts to be able to witness the fights; even some guards and soldiers of the kingdom specifically took that day off to leave their roles.


    The four arrived at the gigantic combat arena, very different compared to where Thamuz was fighting, making him remember his previous fights and feel uncertainty about who his next combatant would be.


    "Well, we''re here," said Tawnylon, getting down from his carriage along with his son.


    They paid the driver and walked towards the stadium gates, spotting Korro along with Vixkard, who also saw them and approached them.


    "Just from the chorus of joy and the murmurs of people, I can tell this will be a good year for official shamonak fights," noted Vixkard, clinging to Korro''s arm.


    The four entered the stadium, which was almost similar in size to the one used for the shamonak to death tournament, only with the difference that it was more sophisticated and made for the visual pleasure of those who couldn''t handle fights as brutal as the ones Thamuz had fought.


    A woman of small stature but notable musculature was at the arena entrance, protecting and watching each person who entered, until she saw Vixkard and his group coming.


    "Mister Vixkard, it''s an honor to be in your presence," she said, kneeling before him.


    "Leave those adorations that I don''t like; stand up and receive my ticket. This will be the fighter who''s going to enter to represent me," said Vixkard, handing her a paper with a blue line marked horizontally on it.


    "Right away," she said, grabbing the paper and guiding them to the arena''s interior.


    The darkness became present and made notable how far they were from the main spectacle; they were actually heading towards the stables of the warriors who were going to participate in today''s round of fights, in total more than a hundred, divided into a total of five rounds where only a maximum of twenty fighters would remain, or ten if this year''s fighters were more fierce.


    "This is where fighters prepare before fighting. Right now there are fights taking place on the surface, so your fighter has good time to prepare until his fight," explained the girl, showing with a hand gesture the different fighters who were preparing and training without paying attention to them.


    "Alright, Thamuz, stay here with Korro," ordered Vixkard.


    "Why? I''m not going to fight," asked Thamuz.


    "It''s just so you can train with him for a while, to help him prepare until his fight comes. Besides, you have the best view here if you want to see the fight up close," explained Vixkard.


    "Alright, you go ahead, get the best seats," said Thamuz, starting to walk with Korro.


    The woman guided Vixkard and Tawnylon out of the combat stables, disappearing from Thamuz''s view until they were only shadows. Now he looked at Korro, who was obviously nervous.


    "So, is this your first time in a shamonak fight of this type?" asked Thamuz, crossing his arms.


    "Yes, I had never been here; the only time I had fought was in training fights, and the last time was with you," responded Korro, sitting on a nearby bench.


    "Well, look at how you made me get serious for a moment; that means you''ll do very well with any opponent they put against you. Besides, they said you had time to train, so let''s start," said Thamuz, getting into his usual combat position.


    Korro looked at him and gave a long sigh, standing up and taking the same position he had used when fighting Thamuz previously.


    "Where did you learn this combat position?" asked Thamuz.


    "I invented it myself; I strike more than I grab, so it helps me to deliver strikes with more speed and power," responded Korro. "Where did you learn yours?"


    "I learned it during my fights; I first used it with my father, he gave me the beating of my life, then I got used to it in my  shamonak to death fights. After all, I grab more than I strike," said Thamuz, with a small smile on his face.


    As if they were two lightning bolts, both lunged at each other; Thamuz grabbed Korro''s hips while Korro did the same, drawing strength from where he had none to win in the grappling duel, but Thamuz''s overwhelming force was much greater and threw him to the other side, making him roll several meters.


    "Try using your legs to unbalance me," said Thamuz, walking towards Korro.


    "How?" asked Korro.


    "Like this," said Thamuz, before lunging at Korro.


    Thamuz grabbed Korro by the chest and used one leg to retract Korro''s leg and slam him against the ground, making his back sound.


    "This way," added Thamuz, extending a hand towards Korro.


    Korro was panting from the sudden blow he received, raising a hand to grab Thamuz''s and looking him in the eyes.


    "I told you I wasn''t that good with grappling," said Korro, still breathing heavily.


    "You need to refine them very well. In our first fight, you were able to grab me in different ways and slam me against the ground, that I do appreciate," said Thamuz, lowering his hand. "But if that''s the case, then let''s work on your strikes."


    Thamuz suddenly straightened up, crouching a bit and putting his arms to his side, taking a deep breath and making a great effort with his body; he was hardening his muscles.


    "Muscle control?" asked Korro.


    "Yes, hit me all you want, to warm up before you go in," suggested Thamuz, flexing his muscles with more force.


    Korro nodded and started hitting Thamuz with consecutive palm strikes; the shock waves and sound made some fighters stop to watch Thamuz''s resistance and Korro''s striking power.


    Several minutes passed like this until a voice was heard calling Korro''s name; it was one of the combat stadium officials, announcing that it was Korro''s turn.


    "Well, it seems it''s your turn to fight," said Thamuz, relaxing his muscles and giving a slight grunt of pain.


    Korro looked at his hands and saw they were bloodied and somewhat sore, but closed his fists and began walking towards where the stadium official was.


    "Wish me luck, Thamuz, I hope you watch the whole fight."


    With those last words, Korro disappeared in the darkness of the halls.

 Chapter 44: presentation

    The corridor through which Korro walked was filled with embodied memories that demonstrated how brutal the previous battles had been. On the floor, blood formed mysterious lines and shapes; teeth scattered everywhere¡ªsome small and others large¡ªand even a horn thrown away as if insignificant, revealed the intensity of the preceding battles.


    "We are now at the entrance of the combat arena," said the stadium official, stopping. "Stay here until they call your name."


    With that order, the handler left. Korro watched him until he disappeared into the darkness of the hallways. Then, he looked ahead to examine the stage where he would fight.


    It was a simple arena, like many others: delimited by a square marking its boundaries and several circular lines destined to position the fighters.


    The presenter approached: an individual approximately one meter eighty-seven centimeters tall, dressed in fine and loose clothing that evidenced his desire to project an elegant image to the public. His horns, adorned with rings that complemented his attire, denoted a taste for luxury and ostentation.


    Then, he directed his gaze to the audience, who acclaimed him as if he were a star. At one moment, he raised his hand demanding silence, and the atmosphere immediately became expectant.


    "Welcome everyone to the twelfth round of the official shamonak fights!" he proclaimed, extending his arms. "The previous rounds have demonstrated the power and resilience of the modern generation of fighters: warriors capable of moving mountains and enduring the blows of gods."


    "On this occasion, we will have as protagonists students of those who were once the most powerful shamonak fighters. With this preamble, I present Korro, student of the legendary Vixkard."


    The crowd burst into applause and chants upon hearing the mention of Vixkard. Knowing his past and his contributions to the planet, they received Korro with great expectation, presuming he would be a powerful and brave warrior.


    However, the reality was very different. Korro felt a deep fear; it was his first fight. His heart was beating with such intensity that it seemed about to disintegrate. At one moment, his vision blurred, almost causing him to faint. Nevertheless, he managed to recover, holding his chest while advancing towards the light of the arena.


    When his figure appeared completely, the atmosphere changed. Some kept a sepulchral silence, while others observed him with open contempt.


    Many knew Korro''s criminal life as the former leader of the Steel Fangs. Some had directly suffered his crimes, and even several had lost loved ones due to his criminal influence.


    Consequently, instead of being received with expectant applause, he was received with a wave of boos and objects thrown by the audience. A glass full of a peculiar liquid hit his forehead: it was a soda made with flavored bubbles from the city''s extramural ponds.


    "I suppose people don''t forget so easily," he said to himself, cleaning the liquid remains with his hand and then licking it.


    Meanwhile, in the upper stands of the stadium, Tawnylon and Vixkard observed the scene. Tawnylon devoured small pieces of meat that crunched between his teeth, while Vixkard remained attentive to every sound.


    "Are they really booing him?" asked Vixkard.


    "Indeed," responded Tawnylon, closing his provisions bag. "Apparently, he does not enjoy the majority''s favor."


    "It''s understandable," reflected Vixkard. "Leaving behind a life of crime is not simple. The past always pursues us, no matter how much we try to escape."


    The presenter rearranged his clothing and cleared his throat, directing his gaze towards the side entrance, from where a glacial air emanated.


    "We now present his rival! A competitor with a streak of five consecutive victories in shamonak fights. Student of Takemaru, the former fighter of the ancient khumulak king ¡ª who could not attend due to an indisposition ¡ª I present Adamas Septum!" his voice resonated with renewed energy throughout the stadium.


    From the entrance emerged a yhamak of an intense gray tone, darker than usual. His hair, an amalgam of black and gray tones, contrasted with eyes of a deep purple. His horns, slightly above average ¡ª approximately twenty-five centimeters ¡ª stood elegantly.


    The most distinctive aspect of his appearance was his body markings: a horizontal line with straight strokes extending from his ribs to his back, standing out on his skin.


    His entrance was apotheotic. He greeted the crowd with triumphant gestures, which acclaimed him like a hero. Some followers even wore attire similar to his.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    "A gray has fallen to me in my first fight," reflected Korro. "This must be a nightmare."


    "I would bet that Takemaru did not come for anything other than to satisfy his appetite. Whenever I saw him, he was consuming some food," Vixkard muttered between his teeth.


    "Are you upset because Takemaru was one of your few defeats?" inquired Tawnylon, arching an eyebrow.


    "Indeed, I am somewhat resentful," admitted Vixkard.


    Thamuz observed from the entrance where Korro had been moments before, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, meticulously analyzing his opponent. He let out a slight sigh.


    "That gray yhamak is too similar to Bhaxmunt Exilias," he commented, darkening his gaze. "I hope he doesn''t possess the same combat capacity."


    Adamas stopped in front of Korro, dominating him with a notable height difference; Korro barely reached his chest.


    "You''re too small to be a shamonak fighter," Adamas mocked. "So tiny that I could crush you right now. However, I won''t do it. I know your story, Korro Bastherat, son of a prestigious shamonak fighter who died in combat. You became a criminal to satisfy your own desires, harming many in the process. Now you''re here, in a distinguished event like a shamonak fight. Are you trying to redeem yourself or, on the contrary, mock us? If it''s the latter, I''ll make sure to defeat you in the most humiliating way possible."


    Korro seemed to be nodding off, with saliva dripping from his mouth. His almost closed eyes suggested he was about to fall asleep, until a small paper ball, thrown from the stands, hit his head, instantly waking him up.


    "Did you say something? I almost fell asleep; I couldn''t rest well last night," he responded with absolute disinterest.


    A vein pronounced itself on Adamas''s forehead, showing his growing fury. Nevertheless, he closed his eyes, sighed, and turned his back, starting to walk away.


    "You''d better know how to walk on your hands," Adamas sentenced, stopping abruptly and looking at him sideways, "because I intend to tear off your legs."


    Both fighters went to the extremes of the arena. Korro executed his ritual: he grabbed his knees, raised one leg and stamped it on the ground, repeating the movement with the other.


    Adamas, for his part, flexed his muscles, making his bones crunch while greeting his fervent audience. He smiled and pointed with his finger, manifesting his appreciation.


    The presenter withdrew, dedicating a last look to the contenders. A smile that exposed several teeth of a luminous material on his face before disappearing into the darkness of the hallways.


    Korro adopted his combat position: arms extended to the sides, slightly crouched. Adamas, in contrast, assumed a posture identical to Thamuz''s: completely upright, hands extended, with one leg forward, as if he were prepared to deliver the first blow.


    The bell rang and, just as Korro was about to charge at Adamas, the sound seemed to fade. Adamas instantly disappeared in front of him, reappearing like a ghost and delivering an open-palm blow with devastating force to his chest.


    Korro was projected several meters backward, rolling on the ground until stopping at the arena''s edges, on the verge of falling out.


    "I didn''t hit you with my full power, but you seem so weak that you haven''t resisted even a single impact," declared Adamas, crossing his arms with a mocking tone. "What a disappointment. I thought you would at least survive a few more seconds."


    A slight groan spread through the arena. Korro began to rise, holding his chest with both hands, trembling but determined to stay on his feet.


    "You hit like a baby, damn ''griglet''" he pronounced with contempt.


    Upon hearing the term "griglet", Adamas was seized by uncontrollable rage. It was a discriminatory expression formerly used to refer to gray-skinned yhamak.


    "Don''t call me that!" he roared, launching himself against Korro with all his strength.


    Korro smiled, aware that his provocation had taken effect. He positioned himself with arms open, observing Adamas''s charge and waiting for the impact.


    At the last moment, he moved laterally and placed a foot to cause his fall. However, Adamas managed to tense his fingers, clinging to the arena floor and avoiding disqualification.


    "Damn spawn!" he exclaimed, spinning his arm with the intention of striking Korro.


    The blow grazed Korro''s lips, which he barely dodged, cutting himself on contact with Adamas''s knuckles.


    Suddenly, Korro launched himself at him with surprising strength, knocking him down and beginning to repeatedly hit his head, just as he had done previously with Thamuz.


    Adamas could only cover himself with his arms. Despite Korro''s apparent physical disadvantage, his blows were extraordinarily powerful, comparable to those of a professional shamonak fighter. Aware of his vulnerability, Adamas could not allow himself to receive direct impacts to the face.


    Korro continued his fierce attack, generating even a smoke trail around his body, until a sharp pain in his chest forced him to stop, touching the affected area and separating from Adamas.


    Adamas suddenly rose and discharged a kick on Korro''s injured form, directly impacting his stomach and making him roll on the ground again.


    Determined not to give him a reprieve, Adamas launched himself at him, attempting to stomp with a colossal force that made the combat arena rumble. Korro rolled frenetically, barely avoiding each onslaught.


    In a crucial moment, Korro rose with the last of his strength, avoiding being crushed. He observed how Adamas lunged directly toward him, arms completely open.


    Identifying a vulnerability in his opponent''s posture, Korro took advantage to discharge a powerful blow to Adamas''s solar plexus. The impact made him recoil, gasping and desperately seeking air.


    Exploiting that moment of weakness, Korro embraced him, positioned himself at his back, and fell backward, executing a suplex that resonated throughout the stadium. A dust cloud rose, sending air gusts toward the spectators.


    "Who executed that move?" asked Vixkard. "At this point, I cannot clearly perceive the fighters'' presence."


    "It was Korro," responded Tawnylon, observing the scene with expectant eyes. "He has managed to perform a suplex on Adamas. A dense dust cloud currently covers the arena."


    When the dust dissipated, the public broke into cheers of support and enthusiasm for Adamas. Adamas, however, clung to Korro''s arms with excessive strength, as if intending to tear them apart. His fixed and intense gaze transmitted an overwhelming determination.


    "I''ve changed my mind," he declared with a supernatural smile. "It won''t be your legs. Now I''ll keep your arms."

 Chapter 45: i do it for myself

    Adamas''s crushing grip on Korro''s arms was ruthless, his fingers digging into flesh like steel claws. There was no doubt: he was a fighter of the same style as Thamuz, a specialist in grappling and submission techniques who knew exactly how to inflict maximum pain.


    Korro''s bones creaked under the pressure as he struggled to break free from his opponent''s hands. Adamas, reveling in his dominance, wore a cruel smile while deliberately prolonging his victim''s torment.


    In an act born of desperation, Korro executed a violent twist. The movement cost him his left arm''s dislocation, but he managed to land a devastating knee strike to Adamas''s ribs. The impact was enough to make his captor loosen his grip and step back, clutching his injured side.


    Korro rose unsteadily, his breathing ragged from the sharp pain radiating from his left arm. The limb, twisted at an unnatural angle, still responded to his commands, though every movement was torture.


    Adamas recovered with supernatural speed and charged at Korro, who was momentarily distracted assessing his injured limb''s condition. However, when the aggressor was about to take him down, Korro counterattacked: he used his own dislocated arm as a weapon, smashing it against Adamas''s chest. The blow, though it managed to push his opponent back, barely seemed to affect him.


    "Is your desperation such that you attack with a broken arm?" Adamas mocked, his voice dripping with contempt.


    "Your body is hard enough to serve as support and realign my bones," Korro responded with calculated calm, while manipulating his injured arm until a satisfying crack indicated it had returned to its natural position. "Much better."


    The peculiar strategy disconcerted Adamas, who began to recognize that his adversary possessed knowledge that could prove problematic. He adopted his initial stance again: upright, with hands extended and one leg forward, preparing to execute his most lethal technique.


    Suddenly, silence engulfed the arena. For Korro, the world plunged into absolute void as Adamas''s figure vanished before his eyes. Recognizing the technique he had experienced at the start of the combat, Korro instinctively threw himself to the ground.


    Adamas materialized his presence above him, his palm extended like a descending guillotine, but the strike found only air. The resulting shockwave traveled to the stadium wall, leaving an impressive crater in its surface.


    "Damn it!" Korro muttered, aware of how close he had been to death.


    From his elevated position, Adamas raised his palm again, determined to finish off his rival, but Korro rolled nimbly to the side. The subsequent impact pulverized the ground where he had been a second before, adding another crater to the combat zone.


    The thunderous sound of Adamas''s strikes resonated in Vixkard''s ears, who frowned and crossed his arms, analyzing the situation.


    "That sound can only come from a palm strike of the highest level. Takemaru has trained his student well, though I wonder if he knows the weakness of that technique," Vixkard murmured to himself, watching as Korro desperately dodged each of Adamas''s onslaughts.


    The impacts devastated the arena while Adamas attacked incessantly. Korro, however, managed to evade each blow with surprising agility, probably the result of years spent escaping from gang leaders who chased him for stealing food and water in his days as a little criminal.


    Adamas''s frustration grew with each failed attack until, suddenly, he stopped. He stood up straight, resting his hands on his knees while fixing a fierce gaze on his opponent.


    Korro, noticing the cessation of impacts, quickly turned to find Adamas motionless, his eyes fixed on him like those of a predator.


    "Have you grown tired of hitting the air?" Korro mocked from a safe distance.


    The smile that formed on Adamas''s face was his only warning before he raised both hands with superhuman speed. A barrage of successive palm strikes generated shockwaves that traveled toward Korro, who could only watch helplessly as the attack reached him.


    His body convulsed under the impact of the strikes he had tried so hard to avoid. The precision and power of the shockwaves reverberated through every fiber of his being, his attempts to protect himself proving futile against the brutal beating.


    As abruptly as it began, the punishment ended. Adamas composed himself with elegance while Korro collapsed to his knees, his body battered and bloodied from the multiple wounds the impacts had opened in his skin.


    Adamas approached with determined steps until he stood before his fallen rival, contemplating from above the broken form of the one who dared to challenge him. Korro, with effort, raised his gaze to meet his executioner''s eyes.


    "You''ve forced me to use almost all my strength against you, a mere criminal from the slums," Adamas sneered with disdain. "Did you really think you could infiltrate the world of shamonak just like that? Did you think you could leave behind all the damage you''ve caused and mock something so sacred? Look at yourself now, on your knees and at death''s door."


    Adamas raised his arm, his palm extended, pointing directly at Korro''s head.


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    At that moment, Korro''s vision darkened completely. Darkness enveloped him, but amid the shadows, a sound penetrated his consciousness: distant applause and chants, like an echo from another world.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    "Killing is forbidden in the arena, so I''ll give you a strike that will leave you paralyzed for life. You''ll spend the rest of your days immobile, reflecting on your arrogance," he sentenced coldly.


    "Applause?" Korro murmured to himself, trying to locate the source of those sounds flooding his ears. "I always hated that kind of noise."


    His legs refused to respond when he tried to stand up, while the applause grew in intensity, resonating with increasing fervor in his mind.


    "So, what''s different now?" he whispered, extending a hand toward the darkness that enveloped him. "Could they be... for me?"


    Suddenly, the applause ceased. The darkness began to dissipate, revealing Adamas with his palm inches away from impacting his head.


    "No," Korro''s words emerged as a whisper that cut through the air. "This is how it''s always been."


    With a final explosion of will, Korro twisted his body. Adamas''s strike impacted his shoulder, destroying bones and tendons, but like a wounded beast, Korro lunged at his opponent. His arms closed around Adamas''s waist, pushing him backward with a strength that defied his condition.


    "How is this possible?" Adamas exclaimed, astonished at his dying rival''s tremendous power.


    Desperate, Adamas counterattacked with a rain of blows: punches, elbows, and knee strikes that impacted Korro''s battered body. But it was useless. Like an unstoppable train, Korro kept advancing until they reached the arena''s edge, where Adamas desperately clung to the rough edges.


    Korro''s grip began to loosen, his body trembling from the superhuman effort. Adamas, also shaking but on the verge of victory, let out a laugh as he felt his opponent faltering.


    "Damn fool!" he mocked between laughs. "Did you really think you could defeat me like this? Keep dreaming, you''ll never be at our level."


    In response, Korro''s grip intensified brutally, crushing Adamas''s torso. With a supreme effort, Korro raised his head to look directly into his adversary''s eyes.


    "Do you really think I want to be at your level?" he spat the words with contempt. "Everything I do, everything I''m enduring, isn''t to compare myself to anyone."


    In a lightning movement, Korro hooked his leg behind Adamas''s, replicating the technique that Thamuz had used against him. Adamas''s balance broke, and both fighters plummeted out of the arena.


    "I do it for myself and no one else!"


    A cloud of dust rose with the impact of their bodies. The spectators stood up, holding their breath while the dust dissipated. When vision finally cleared, the image was unmistakable: Korro remained on top of Adamas, who lay completely stretched out on the ground.


    The bell rang and the announcer''s voice proclaimed the verdict that no one expected:


    "The winner is Korro Bastherat!"


    Silence reigned in the arena, interrupted only by the muffled sobs of some of Adamas''s followers, devastated by their idol''s humiliating defeat. Other looks of contempt were fixed on Korro and his unorthodox victory.


    Korro laboriously rose, his battered shoulder throbbing with an intense purple color. He had barely managed to stand when a brutal impact crashed against his right temple, projecting him against the nearest wall. The thunderous impact resonated throughout the venue as his body became embedded in the wall.


    "Damn bastard!" Adamas roared, standing and consumed by fury. "How dare you defeat me like that?"


    The audience, who normally would have celebrated seeing a criminal getting his due, remained in sepulchral silence. After all, Korro had won cleanly, respecting every rule of shamonak. Adamas''s brutality, blinded by wounded pride, was beginning to horrify even his most faithful followers.


    Adamas approached Korro''s motionless figure, who lay like a macabre painting against the cracked wall.


    "I''ll kill you, damn it, I swear!" he vociferated, raising his palm to deliver the final blow.


    But just before executing his revenge, an iron grip imprisoned his wrist, making the bones crunch beneath his skin.


    "Who the hell dares?" Adamas roared, turning violently.


    The color drained from his face upon encountering an imposing figure that towered over him. His skin, black as the deepest abyss, his majestic horns, and above all, those crimson eyes that seemed to pierce his soul.


    "I kindly ask you..." Thamuz''s deep voice vibrated like contained thunder, "to leave my friend alone. His victory was legitimate and according to the rules. Your current behavior is improper and dishonorable."


    Despite Thamuz''s measured tone, carefully chosen to prevent unwanted rumors from reaching the wrong ears, Adamas confronted him with manifest contempt.


    "A despicable criminal like this is your friend?" he spat, freeing himself from the grip with a sharp pull. "Then you should be considered just like him."


    "He is my fighting companion and my master''s student. My duty is to ensure his safety," declared Thamuz, standing before Adamas. "Is there a problem with that?"


    Humiliation boiled in Adamas''s veins. He had never seen Thamuz in shamonak to death battles, so he underestimated him, considering him a mere guard without real ability. Without a word, he discharged a palm strike with all his strength against Thamuz''s chest.


    The impact was like hitting pure granite. The bones in his forearms reverberated with the shock, but blinded by rage, Adamas ignored the pain. He continued his frenzied assault against Thamuz''s immutable body, while the air filled with the grotesque sound of tearing flesh and splintering bones. Finally, the pain became unbearable and Adamas collapsed to his knees.


    Examining his arms, horror invaded him: his forearms were shattered, with bones protruding through the skin, and his palms seemed to have been crushed by a giant.


    "Behold what your anger has cost you," said Thamuz, leaning towards Adamas''s destroyed figure. "You have destroyed a shamonak fighter''s most valuable tools."


    Fury still burned in Adamas''s eyes as he looked at Thamuz with contempt, wanting to strangle him but unable to move. Realization hit him like a sledgehammer: Thamuz hadn''t even felt his strikes. He was invincible, the first who truly deserved that title.


    Thamuz turned towards Korro, ignoring Adamas''s internal battle.


    "Friend, you really outdid yourself defeating a superior opponent," Thamuz murmured while carefully extracting Korro from the crack. "Wait until we train together, we''ll become much stronger, as I promised."


    Gently, Thamuz placed Korro on his shoulders, careful not to aggravate his injuries. He had barely begun his path toward the corridor when a ball of trash impacted against his head.


    "Booooo!"


    A mocking voice broke the silence, so familiar that Thamuz instinctively looked at his left arm, remembering that dislocation in a fierce combat.


    As he turned his head, he saw him: Khabixan, dressed in elegant white clothes, sitting in the upper stands next to Bhogtan, the first opponent Thamuz had defeated with a single move. Khabixan exhibited a sardonic smile.


    "This combat really ended at the best part," proclaimed Khabixan, standing up with his arms extended theatrically. "Fortunately, someone very special is present to rekindle the flame of these fights: the one who defeated me and has caught my attention."

 Chapter 46: mortals

    The atmosphere became dense, almost palpable. Three titans of shamonak now shared the same space: two professional veterans and Thamuz, the rookie who had shaken the foundations of the sport with his recent victories.


    "I never thought I''d see you again," said Thamuz, turning to face them while carefully holding Korro.


    Khabixan descended from the stands with an elegant jump, while Bhogtan opted for the conventional route of the stairs. Both approached with determined steps.


    "We thought the same, but you seem to have a gift for causing a stir wherever you go," observed Khabixan, crossing his arms with an arrogant air.


    "What are you looking for then?" inquired Thamuz cautiously. "A rematch?"


    "Not in my case," responded Bhogtan, casting a meaningful look at Khabixan.


    The latter gritted his teeth at his companion''s insinuation but exhaled a resigned sigh.


    "I''m not looking for a rematch either. It''s a miracle I can walk after our encounter," admitted Khabixan, moving closer. "I didn''t come to exchange blows, but to propose something: we want to train with you."


    Surprise was reflected in Thamuz''s posture, who weighed whether this was an elaborate joke.


    "Why would you want to train with me? I have nothing to teach you," he protested.


    "That''s exactly why we want to train with you," intervened Khabixan, with Bhogtan nodding. "We can teach you our techniques, and in exchange, we can test them against you to refine them."


    "Are you asking me to be your training dummy?" asked Thamuz, bewildered.


    "You could say that," confirmed Khabixan, interlacing his fingers. "When I fought you, it was like hitting a living mountain. You''d be perfect for our objective and, as we promise, we''ll teach you everything we know in exchange."


    Thamuz studied the two veterans with suspicion, but detected no malice in their words. He exhaled softly before responding.


    "I''ll consider it, but right now my priority is getting my friend medical attention," he said, turning his back on them.


    "We live in the upper part of the city, if you decide to accept!" Khabixan''s voice echoed through the hallway, pursuing Thamuz''s steps.


    On his way through the corridors, carrying Korro''s battered body, Thamuz distinguished the silhouettes of his father and his master at the end of the hallway. He quickened his pace, meeting their faces that mixed concern and pride.


    "I was about to intervene against that sore loser, but I saw how you were handling the situation and decided to stay out of it," commented Tawnylon, approaching his son.


    "Oh! I would give anything to see Takemaru''s student''s face! He must be boiling with rage from such a defeat!" laughed Vixkard.


    Tawnylon carefully took Korro, heading towards the infirmary, leaving Vixkard and Thamuz alone.


    "What do you think of today''s fight?" inquired Vixkard.


    Thamuz pondered for a moment, crossing his arms. "I expected more hand-to-hand combat, but Korro was at a clear disadvantage. He had to resort to unconventional tactics."


    "Although Korro won, Takemaru will feel dishonored when he learns his student fell to someone supposedly inferior," reflected Vixkard, turning his head as if he could see Thamuz. "Did you notice the technique Adamas used?"


    "The palm strike that impacted without direct contact?"


    "Exactly. That''s a medium-level yhamataw, capable of creating such friction in the air that it generates impact waves," explained Vixkard in a didactic tone.


    "Yhamataw?"


    "The ancestral name of the palm strike, in honor of its creator," continued Vixkard. "A legendary man capable of splitting seas with a single blow and who, in his final days, carried a frozen mountain to purify the bloody seas of ancient Aldheran."


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    "If that''s medium level, I can''t imagine a high-level one," reflected Thamuz, stroking his chin.


    "Let me demonstrate it," said Vixkard, adopting a combat stance with his palm pulled back. "Watch carefully."


    Thamuz watched expectantly, his body vibrating with anticipation. But just as Vixkard was about to execute the strike, a horrible cracking sound echoed through the hallway. The master had dislocated his arm in the attempt, and now he was writhing, trying to contain howls of pain.


    "Master!" exclaimed Thamuz alarmed.


    "Don''t intervene. I''m just rusty," growled Vixkard, keeping Thamuz at a distance with a gesture.


    With a sudden movement, Vixkard raised his dislocated arm and smashed it against the hallway wall, creating a small crater in the surface.


    "My body deteriorates day by day," he muttered, while methodically manipulating his bones.


    Thamuz watched fascinated as his master realigned the arm until a click indicated it had returned to its place.


    "Now I understand where Korro learned that technique," reflected Thamuz.


    "Yes, although it''s dangerous. Without proper control, you can cause permanent damage to yourself," warned Vixkard, flexing his recovered fist.


    Silence took over the hallway, interrupted only by Vixkard''s occasional cough.


    "Let''s go home to rest. While Korro recovers, we''ll focus on the final phase of your training," proposed Vixkard, heading towards the exit. "What follows will be mainly perfecting what you''ve learned."


    When they were about to leave, an icy breeze made Thamuz''s skin bristle. As he turned, his heart stopped: there stood a small and battered figure, covered in wounds, with a gaze that penetrated into Thamuz''s soul.


    It was him: Shandam, the foreigner who had burst into his house seeking help, the one who served as a toy for a tyrant''s son, the one who dreamed of returning to his native world.


    "Shandam? How...? Have you escaped?" asked Thamuz, extending his hands towards the apparition.


    But Shandam remained silent, while blood flowed from his wounds and a deep laceration in his chest revealed the pulsating beats of his exposed heart.


    "Please, talk to me," pleaded Thamuz, trying to reach him.


    The figure vanished like smoke in the air, leaving only a whisper that burned itself into Thamuz''s mind:


    "Don''t forget me..."


    The words were lost in the wind, but they rekindled in Thamuz the memory of his true purpose, the reason that had brought him to the city and pushed him to face fearsome adversaries: Shandam''s liberation.


    A slight smile drew on his face while he contemplated the sky through the windows, where the last rays of sun gave way to twilight, prelude to the imminent night.


    "I have never forgotten you, Shandam. Just hold on a little longer," whispered Thamuz to himself, like a sacred oath.


    The echoes of combat still resonated in the stadium: grunts of pain and effort while fighters faced each other with their full arsenal: fists, elbows, stomps, and some even ventured with unorthodox kicks.


    As night fell, the public had withdrawn, leaving the stadium in solitude. The arena remained sown with the vestiges of battles: scattered teeth, broken horns, fragments of flesh, and even severed fingers. Opportunistic vendors skulked in the shadows, collecting these macabre trophies to sell as good luck charms to shamonak novices.


    In his room at Vixkard''s house, Thamuz studied carefully the pages that told the history of Yhamataw, the legendary creator of shamonak. His master had given them to him to deepen his understanding of this martial art.


    The text narrated:


    "In the dark times of Aldheran, when the strongest ruled after the mysterious disappearance of all life except the yhamak, a legendary figure emerged. Resources were scarce and the powerful drank the blood of the weak to survive the toxic seas. Then appeared Yhamataw, a yhamak of colossal proportions, with a right hand that resembled the claw of an ancestral beast, capable of splitting mountains.


    Yhamataw overthrew the corrupt leaders, establishing a new order based on his martial art. Under his reign, life flourished again in Aldheran, and he established a controlled system for blood extraction, preventing indiscriminate slaughter. He dedicated himself to instructing his people in shamonak, a legacy that has endured generations.


    In his final days, Yhamataw undertook a final feat: he traveled to the frozen lands, split the most imposing mountain with a single palm strike and carried it on his shoulders. He threw it into the toxic seas, purifying them and gifting his people the treasure of abundant water. The effort stopped his heart, but he died standing, like the hero he was."


    Thamuz contemplated the words with amazement. It was more than history: it was the legend of a savior who had forged not just a fighting style, but an entire way of life.


    He carefully rolled up the pages and placed them next to his father''s bed, who snored with the power of a sleeping beast.


    Through the window, he observed Aldheran''s night sky, where stars danced forming triangular patterns in the dark blue mantle. As he lay down under the thick blankets that protected him from the cold, his mind wandered through diverse thoughts.


    The vision of Shandam persisted: his battered body, his broken spirit. And with it, another memory emerged: his humiliating defeat against Gigantino, Zarakel''s son, a battle so quick and one-sided it barely left a mark in his memory.


    He touched his ribs with trembling fingers, reliving the moment they were shattered under Gigantino''s relentless feet. A phantom pain traversed his previously fractured arm, a sensation that became more vivid with each beat of his heart. The memory of trauma felt as real as the day it occurred.


    But he pushed away all those torturous memories from his mind, fixing his gaze on the ceiling with iron determination. In the room''s darkness, he visualized the twisted face of Zarakel''s son, every detail of that cruel grimace burned into his memory.


    "I will never forget," he whispered through his teeth, and these words resonated in the darkness like an unbreakable promise, before exhaustion dragged him into a deep turbulent sleep.

 chapter 47: techniques

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    The morning breeze was strangely cold, wrapping around Thamuz''s skin, who shivered slightly from the cold that seeped into his bones.


    A considerable weight settled on his chest, as if something was sinking into it. Thamuz''s eyes shot open to find what was causing this discomfort.


    It was the orugadorun, that small creature that caused so much terror in Korro. However, it slept peacefully on Thamuz''s chest, curled up while trying to nibble on its own tail.


    Thamuz sighed with relief upon identifying the source of his discomfort. He raised a hand to gently stroke the small creature, feeling the hardness of its scales under his fingertips.


    Turning his head, he noticed his father''s bed was empty, an image that had become familiar in recent days. He knew his father usually woke before him, either to help Vixkard or simply to sit on the hills and contemplate the morning sky, where stars danced upon a celestial canvas that rose more majestic each day.


    Carefully, he took the orugadorun in his arms like a baby and slowly sat up to avoid waking it. Once standing, he placed the small creature in his bed, covering it with sheets that were small for his own robust body.


    He headed towards his room''s exit, where he distinguished two figures outside the house. Recognizing Vixkard and his father, he quickened his pace. Upon exiting, he confirmed his suspicions: Vixkard rested in a rocking chair, analyzing with his keen hearing Tawnylon''s movements, who was executing techniques that Thamuz barely knew. Some were familiar, like the heartshatter and palm strikes, but he watched in amazement as his father sometimes seemed to grab the air itself, and although his movements lacked a visible target, the air split around him, evidencing extraordinary physical strength.


    Vixkard perceived the heavy footsteps approaching from inside the house. He raised his head, feeling on his skin how the wind redistributed, as if a gigantic figure interrupted its natural flow. He knew immediately it was Thamuz.


    "Good morning, young Thamuz, how are you?" he asked, with a broad smile on his face.


    "I still wonder how you can perceive things without your eyes," questioned Thamuz, sitting beside him.


    "The years without sight have sharpened my other senses, though when it rains I''m as blind as you see me now," responded Vixkard, rocking his chair slowly.


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    Watching his father train, the memory of korro fight assaulted his mind. He hadn''t heard much about him since his father had taken him to that place to heal his wounds.


    "How is Korro?" asked Thamuz, turning towards Vixkard.


    "He''s fine. Your father took him to a good place for his recovery. I think he''s even enjoying it, as I saw several pretty girls at that site," said Vixkard, playfully elbowing Thamuz while smiling mischievously. "Although the last time I went to check on him, he seemed rather quiet. Perhaps the surprise and physical punishment he received left him with more than just visible marks."


    Thamuz nodded at these words, imagining Korro''s situation: perhaps trying to flirt with the women attending to his recovery, as his master suggested, or maybe just withdrawn, ruminating on thoughts that devoured his words and buried them deep in his mind.


    "By the way, Mr. Vixkard," said Thamuz, turning completely towards his master. "Why is my father training? Will he participate in some tournament?"


    "Not at all. If he entered current tournaments, he''d surely only need one arm to defeat everyone without difficulty. I sent him to train for a more important challenge that will test his skills," explained Vixkard, making a dramatic pause. "That test is to train with you, to perfect your techniques so that in the end... you''ll have a fight with him."


    Vixkard''s words fell like lead in Thamuz''s stomach, cutting off his breath while his eyes opened immensely. A specific memory crossed his mind: the first time his father taught him Shamonak.


    That memory remained indelible in his mind for being his first encounter with defeat, although at that moment he didn''t understand what it was. He vividly remembered the pain that followed that brutal training, the bruises that covered his body like a map of his inexperience.


    "Really?" asked Thamuz, with a trembling voice.


    "Completely serious. This will be your final test before we focus on repeating my other lessons until exhaustion," responded Vixkard, turning his head towards him. "Remember, we have trained your durability through muscle control and your power through a very special strike. Now it''s time to perfect what makes Shamonak so extraordinary: its techniques. Without them, you''d just be a brute giant."


    Vixkard''s words floated in the air like leaves in the wind, penetrating Thamuz''s consciousness. He mentally reviewed all the process he had gone through, now facing its culmination. He stood up and observed his father, who was resting from his arduous training with his back turned and hands on his waist.


    "If that''s how it must be, then so be it," declared Thamuz firmly. "If I can defeat my father, I can defeat anyone."


    "That''s what I like, that attitude," said Vixkard, with a slight laugh. "Now go and show what you''re capable of."


    Thamuz advanced with firm steps while the air hit his body. He observed how his father, still with his back turned, was sweating intensely, perhaps from the effort required to execute each technique with precision.


    However, each step Thamuz took felt as if gravity was reversing against him. It was as if a mountain was collapsing on his shoulders; not even the foot of a colossal beast trying to crush him could compare to the sensation that invaded him at that moment.


    When he was at close distance, his father slightly turned his head, fixing his gaze on his son''s eyes.


    Instantly, Thamuz felt a searing heat and a deep unease within him, as if his father emanated a gigantic aura, almost tangible in the environment.


    "Just look at him, it''s the same force I felt that time, when you used your hand to almost kill your father," the demon''s whisper infiltrated Thamuz''s mind, clouding his thoughts.


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    "Why do you appear in the most important moments? Just leave me alone for once," protested Thamuz, almost in a whisper so his father wouldn''t hear.


    "What are you saying, son?" asked Tawnylon, disconcerted by the sudden change in his behavior.


    "Nothing, father, just talking to myself," explained Thamuz, standing up straight in front of his father. "Vixkard told me I was going to train with you to perfect your techniques, with the final lesson being a fight with you."


    "Ah, yes, that," said Tawnylon, with a hint of unease in his voice. "I hope you don''t hold a grudge when we fight. I might remember something from my fighting days and not know how to contain myself at times."


    "Don''t worry about that, father. Rest assured you won''t defeat me as easily as the other time," responded Thamuz, with a challenging tone. "But first, can you teach me some of your techniques and practice them together?"


    "Of course, son. They won''t be easy to learn at first sight, but we have until nightfall for you to at least master the basics," said Tawnylon, stepping back while placing one hand in front and his closed fist against his chest, with the middle finger slightly extended. "Get in this position."


    Thamuz imitated his father''s posture, noticing how strange it felt, very different from what he was used to.


    "Now, with your middle finger, try to strike the air as fast as you can, as if wielding a knife."


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    Thamuz obeyed his father''s instructions, concentrating all his strength in that strike. He felt how his middle finger cut through the air like a sharp dagger.


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    "Good, excellent," said Tawnylon, clapping softly. "That technique is called heartbreaker, you''ve surely seen it multiple times. It focuses on concentrating all your strength in that small space of the middle finger to aim it at the heart, stopping it in the best case or completely destroying the opponent''s internal organs. The open hand serves to hold the opponent and execute the technique at close range."


    After finishing his explanation, Tawnylon got into a squatting position, making his shoulder appear to grow as he tensed his muscles in that posture.


    "Now imitate this position," indicated Tawnylon.


    Thamuz copied his father''s posture, recognizing similarities with a rudimentary technique he had used in previous fights, where he would charge at his opponents with his shoulder, like an enraged beast.


    "What is this technique called, father?" asked Thamuz, intrigued.


    "It''s called Ghokmeran, a term that designated an ancient beast with an extraordinarily hard head. They said its headbutts were so powerful they made the earth tremble. The ancient Shamonak fighters managed to create a technique based on it, and the result is the following..." Tawnylon''s words vanished along with him.


    Thamuz barely registered his father''s disappearance before seeing him materialize in front of him, with his shoulder mere inches from his body. The force of the movement generated an air wave that made Thamuz step back several paces until falling on his back.


    "If this technique impacts, it''s very difficult for the opponent to get up. Its only disadvantages are that you must tense your muscles to the maximum and remain still to cause the most damage possible, besides being swift to execute it like lightning," explained Tawnylon, crouching down and extending a hand to help his son get up.


    Thamuz gripped his father''s hand, trembling slightly as he understood that if that blow had connected, he would be writhing in pain on the ground.


    "Now, you try it," ordered Tawnylon, stepping back and crossing his arms.


    Thamuz swallowed at the order, wondering if he could replicate such power. He got into the indicated position, bending his knees and projecting his shoulder, which seemed to increase in size with each second of tension.


    "Now, release it," ordered Tawnylon with a sharp voice.


    Upon hearing the order, Thamuz unleashed all the force contained in his position. He seemed to vanish in the air before reappearing in front of one of the courtyard walls. The impact was devastating: the structure completely disintegrated, reducing to a cloud of dust.


    When the dust cloud dissipated, the figure of Thamuz emerged, who was slowly getting up while contemplating the destruction he had caused.


    "I''m sorry, Mr. Vixkard, I promise to pay for the wall!" exclaimed Thamuz.


    "Don''t worry about it, just keep training!" responded Vixkard.


    Thamuz returned to his father, who looked at him with some amusement at the executed technique. Tawnylon rested his hands on his knees and observed his son intently.


    "Now, this is another technique, one that isn''t used much due to the high level required to make it functional. However, if you possess great physical strength, it can be devastating," while speaking, Tawnylon raised his leg to an extraordinary height, like a waving flag, then discharged a stomp with all his strength against the ground.


    The impact resonated throughout the place, making the earth and Vixkard''s house tremble. The shock wave propagated through the surroundings, causing people to leave their homes, believing they were being victims of an earthquake.


    "This is called Bhatzaran. You must raise your leg to concentrate all the force in your foot, hitting the ground to generate a vibration that can disorient your opponent or use it as a technique to finish them on the ground," explained Tawnylon, stretching his arms. "What do you think of these techniques, son?"


    "They seem incredible, they could be very useful in my future fights," responded Thamuz with enthusiasm. "Do you have more techniques to teach me?"


    "Yes, there''s one last technique, but I want to show it to you during our fight. Therefore," said Tawnylon, adopting a low position, "let''s practice our grips until nightfall. Then, we''ll have our match."


    Thamuz nodded and adopted his characteristic low position, extending his arms slightly toward his father. Both began to practice, not with all their strength, but to learn from each other.


    Thamuz fell to the ground before the overwhelming force and experience of his father, although occasionally he managed to execute an effective grip and take him down too. The most challenging part was facing Tawnylon''s imposing height of three meters, who could simply rest an arm or leg on the ground to maintain balance and reposition himself.


    They progressed from grips to palm strikes, each one resisting the measured impacts to train pain tolerance and reception technique. Thamuz became frustrated noting that, despite using muscle control to absorb the blows, he still felt them.


    The afternoon passed this way between father and son, training until exhaustion and repeating the techniques shared in that special moment, while Vixkard dozed in his rocking chair with a thread of saliva escaping from his mouth.


    Night finally arrived. The sun hid under the mantle of darkness, leaving orange and blue traces in its imminent rest, while the silhouettes of Thamuz and Tawnylon shone against the night sky.


    Both were panting from the effort. Although they showed no damage or injuries that could compromise their performance in combat, the intense physical work was evident in their agitated breathing and the sweat that pearled their bodies.


    "It''s nighttime, son," said Tawnylon with enthusiasm. "Do you know what that means?"


    Thamuz wiped the sweat from his forehead and spat the blood from his mouth. Tawnylon had accidentally connected a palm strike to his face, and now with his thumb he cleaned the blood from his lip, bringing it to his mouth to taste the metallic flavor.


    "It means I''m going to defeat you," declared Thamuz with a challenging tone, his eyes shining with determination. "Now I will be the best Shamonak fighter on this planet."


    "You wish," protested Tawnylon, adopting a pose almost identical to his son''s, as if he were a reflection in the mirror of time, being the same pose that Tawnylon had used in his days as a fighter.


    The air around them began to distort, as if reality itself bent before the magnitude of their power. The ground trembled slightly, responding to the energy emanating from their bodies like waves in a pond. The tension was so dense it could almost be cut with a knife.


    The stars began to appear in the night sky, silent witnesses to what was about to come. The wind stopped, as if nature itself held its breath before the imminent clash of titans.


    Then, with a sound that seemed to tear the air itself, like thunder preceding the storm, the two warriors launched themselves at each other. Their figures became blurs of movement, the distance between them disappearing in an instant.

 Chapter 48: paternal love

    The sound of flesh being struck shook the environment. Tawnylon had connected a palm strike directly to Thamuz''s chest, with such overwhelming force that his son was sent flying through the air, spinning several times before crashing into the hard ground of the arena. The impact raised a cloud of dust and cracked the earth beneath his body.


    Tawnylon straightened up and turned, observing how the clouds of dust enveloped his son, hiding him completely. The cracking of moving rocks pierced his ears, alerting him.


    Suddenly, Thamuz emerged from the dust cloud with arms extended, seeking to trap his father in a deadly grip. But Tawnylon was faster: he raised his arm with his palm extended and struck Thamuz''s face with supernatural speed, sending him once again to the ground where another cloud of dust rose around him.


    "So you''re using your environment to attempt a grip," said Tawnylon, crossing his arms. "Let''s see what else you have to show me, son."


    He heard footsteps coming from the dust cloud and instinctively responded with a palm strike, but this time he found no resistance. At his side, he perceived the unmistakable sound of muscles tensing, accumulating terrible force. A furtive glance revealed something that left him paralyzed for a crucial moment.


    There was Thamuz, almost crouched and displaying his shoulder, preparing the Ghokmeran. He had masterfully taken advantage of his father''s confusion to position himself.


    Tawnylon barely had time to turn and protect himself with his arms when Thamuz lunged at him with dizzying speed and devastating force. The impact of the shoulder against his defense made bones crunch, and the giant was sent flying backward, through a wall of Vixkard''s house until landing in the outer streets.


    But instead of grunting in pain or showing anger for having fallen into the trap, Tawnylon rose with a radiant smile. His defiant gaze revealed that the combat was truly beginning to excite him.


    "You are no longer the same as before, my son. Now I can fight with you as two true fighters would," he muttered to himself, catching his breath with a deep inhalation.


    Once recovered, Tawnylon launched himself toward Thamuz with arms extended, prepared to execute a devastating grip.


    Thamuz prepared himself, executing a palm strike to counter his father''s onslaught, but as if he were lightning incarnate, Tawnylon changed his position fleetingly. He elevated his body to deliver a palm strike to Thamuz''s chin, who was left astonished by such a display of speed, unable even to glimpse the movement.


    Taking advantage of his son''s shock, Tawnylon skillfully slid behind Thamuz, imprisoning him between his muscular arms before executing a devastating suplex. The grip was so brutal that it made the ground tremble, even awakening Vixkard, who quickly rose and sharpened his ear to capture the sounds emanated by the combatants.


    Thamuz was embedded in the ground, his head sunk among the burning rocks while his body hung in the air, with legs extended like a fallen standard.


    "The same movement I taught you when you first learned about the shamonak. Something so simple yet deadly at the same time," pronounced Tawnylon, rising with deliberation.


    Thamuz collapsed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust around him. His body lay inert until, slowly, he began to rise until fully recovering his stance.


    "You''re really not holding back, father. If that''s the case, then neither will I," declared Thamuz, this time adopting a low position, not as pronounced as on other occasions, but at a considerable height, as if aiming directly at his progenitor''s chest.


    Tawnylon imitated the same posture, fixing his penetrating gaze on his son''s eyes. A moment of silence preceded the attack, until both lunged at each other again, their bodies colliding with the force of two titans.


    Thamuz gripped his father''s hips while the latter responded with equal ferocity, each trying to dominate the other''s strength in a clash of pure brute power. Tawnylon''s fortitude seemed to initially surpass Thamuz''s, but his son strengthened with each passing second. It was as if Tawnylon was trying to fight and hold a living mountain that grew before him, until he felt his forces were eclipsed by those of his firstborn. With a primal roar, Thamuz threw his father against the ground with such momentum that it generated a crater under the veteran fighter''s body.


    The air violently escaped from Tawnylon''s lungs, though a faint smile drew on his lips. Thamuz''s strength and power had increased dramatically since their first confrontation. Now, Tawnylon felt genuine pain, the bruises forming, each blow his son delivered resonating in his bones. Far from being intimidated, his body filled with rejoicing at such a challenge. He rose immediately and launched a palm strike directly at Thamuz, who barely managed to miraculously cover himself with one arm.


    "That''s it, my son, that''s what I want to see in you!" exclaimed Tawnylon, unleashing a relentless barrage of palm strikes toward Thamuz. "I want to contemplate the true shamonak fighter that dwells inside you!"


    Tawnylon''s incessant blows were overwhelming even for the powerful Thamuz, who continued covering himself to avoid receiving the full impact. However, the bones in his arms seemed to be on the verge of fracture, so he had to resort to muscle control. In a bold movement, he immediately lowered his arms and flexed his muscles with all the power he could gather, receiving the full impact of the blows on his armored torso.


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    Tawnylon continued striking without respite, but increasingly felt the impenetrable hardness of his son''s muscles, as if he were attacking a wall of living steel. Finally, he ceased his attack; his palms reddened and throbbing from the intensity of the blows delivered. Meanwhile, Thamuz breathed heavily and took advantage of the pause to catch his breath, touching his chest, abdomen, and arms, evaluating each area where his father had concentrated his fury.


    "It''s something wonderful, isn''t it?" said Tawnylon, tightly closing his bruised fists. "Muscle control is very useful for receiving impacts and dispersing damage, but it has a weakness."


    With these last words, Tawnylon charged at Thamuz with his shoulder, not in such a professional manner as would be a ghokmeran, but rather something primal and resourceful that he used to be able to get close to him.


    The impact of his shoulder against Thamuz''s chest was heard as a crunch, making Vixkard smile upon hearing the sound, leaning back in his chair while putting his hands behind his head.


    "My most powerful student from the past faces my most powerful student of the present," said Vixkard, although a melancholic tone seemed to escape from his lips. "The most powerful of the present."


    His small lament was overshadowed by the fierceness of the battle. Thamuz gripped his father''s shoulder, trying to stop his advances, while his feet dragged against the ground.


    "Come on, what will you do, my son? If we continue like this, we will crash against the wall," said Tawnylon, with a mocking tone.


    Thamuz gave a small glance backward, observing that little by little Tawnylon''s words were true; the wall was just a few meters away from them.


    But Tawnylon''s advances were frustrated upon finding again the overwhelming strength of his son, which opposed his march, with Thamuz firmly gripping his hands to his father''s ribs.


    "I''ll do this!" roared Thamuz, lifting his father with all his strength, as if lifting a gigantic rock due to Tawnylon''s prominent height.


    Just as he lifted him, he slammed him against the ground in a brutal manner, destroying the floor once again and generating a crater of proportions much greater than the previous ones he had made.


    The dust had risen once more, but Thamuz had not seen his father get up, showing a smile that displayed happiness and at the same time concern in case he had exceeded his strength. But upon bending down to better see if his father had been knocked out, he felt a great blow to his chest, with the impact reaching his lungs.


    Indeed, Tawnylon had taken advantage of his son''s small confusion and had risen with great speed, striking Thamuz''s chest with both palms, a technique without a name for being so simple. Moreover, it had been mentioned by Aolani some time ago, just when they were preparing to leave for the city. This technique, being so simple, was deadly, designed to face enemies of great size who had uncovered areas due to their great mass, for example, Thamuz.


    The impact was so strong that it almost brought Thamuz to his knees, using the strength he had left to remain standing, but he felt a cold grip behind his back. Tawnylon had shortened the distance between them and held him in an icy grip, while his mouth approached his son''s ear.


    "The weakness of muscle control is that it is not something passive that activates at the slightest sign of danger; you have to be very attentive to when you''re going to receive the blow," Tawnylon''s grip tightened bestially around Thamuz. "I hope that muscle control serves you for this technique, because this technique was what I wanted to show you in our fight, the last technique of the shamonak, the most dangerous."


    Tawnylon jumped in the air while firmly holding Thamuz, who felt how the force of gravity sank against him, creating the sensation of floating, while his father still seemed to be suspended in the air, although in reality both were slowly falling.


    "This technique is called...!" Tawnylon''s words were suspended when he suddenly turned to the right, completely flipping Thamuz and, with the extraordinary strength of his muscles, slammed his son''s head against the ground as if throwing a ball. "Tomaketan!"


    The impact resonated throughout the place, shaking the surroundings with more intensity than an earthquake of great magnitude. Meanwhile, Tawnylon fell to the ground on his back, panting from fatigue and physical exertion.


    The figure of his son lying on the ground became present. He was face up, with his mouth open and his eyes lost; his chest did not move and there was no sign of life.


    "Thamuz, are you okay?" asked Tawnylon, slowly rising.


    Tawnylon approached where Thamuz was, observing his inert form and beginning to worry deeply about him. He bent down to better examine his son.


    "It cannot be, I think I went too far," whispered Tawnylon to himself, with tears at the edge of his eyes.


    But he felt a blow to his chin, so fast that it didn''t give him time to react, falling right next to Thamuz, ending up head to head with him.


    "That hurt a lot, father," said Thamuz, raising his hand a little to caress Tawnylon''s head, who remained knocked out next to him. "But I suppose you hadn''t had a fight as evenly matched as the one we had now. I''m simply glad to have been able to battle at your level."


    Tawnylon''s laughter was heard even though he was face down on the ground. He slightly turned his body to lie face up next to his son, both contemplating the stars with admiration.


    "You took advantage of my concern for you to give me a palm strike right on the jaw, making the force of the impact move my brain," explained Tawnylon, placing his hand on his son''s head. "You really don''t miss any opportunity, my son."


    The fight had ended in a draw, both parties with no desire to continue the combat because they could hurt themselves more than they had planned. They simply rose while helping each other, father and son.


    "It really was a very impressive fight. I would have given everything I had to buy new eyes to have been able to see it," Vixkard''s voice resonated behind them.


    The old man had been hiding in the darkness; he had abandoned the rocking chair a good while ago and had spent the time sitting on a rock, a point where sounds could be heard better, clearly capturing the techniques they had used and the conclusion of the fight.


    "Mr. Vixkard," said Thamuz, panting from the pain of his wounds. "I thought you had fallen asleep."


    "Yes, I fell asleep a little in the rocking chair, but this fight also revived the flame of my inner fighter," said Vixkard, raising his palms as if he were going to hit someone. "I even felt like joining in and giving you both a beating."


    Thamuz laughed seeing the mocking way Vixkard spoke, but Tawnylon looked skeptically at his master, crossing his arms and looking to the sides.


    "It wasn''t much, just a little fight between father and son," said Tawnylon, in a subdued tone. "What''s next now?"


    "Well, go fix yourselves up and clean up. I''m going to make a big bonfire to celebrate that Thamuz was able to pass his last test. Also, we will talk about many things," said Vixkard, placing his arms behind his back.


    Father and son looked at each other and turned around, walking toward the house to be ready for the great bonfire.

 Chapter 49: i see fire

    Night was yielding its reign, while dawn announced itself majestically on the horizon. The sun emerged with an intense crimson that, in a magical instant, transformed into a deep blue. However, shadows stubbornly persisted in the city, as if the moon refused to abandon its nocturnal domain.


    Vixkard remained seated before the great bonfire, meticulously feeding the flames with pieces of dry firewood he had arranged beside him. He felt the heat penetrate his pores while precisely dosing the exact amount of fuel necessary to keep that dancing fire alive.


    Suddenly, the silence was broken by heavy footsteps coming from the house. They stopped beside him, accompanied by such a resounding crash that it seemed as if a boulder had fallen in that very place.


    "I only heard your footsteps; did your father not come?" asked Vixkard without turning.


    "No, he collapsed exhausted on the bed, and I didn''t have the heart to wake him. Our battle was extremely grueling," responded Thamuz, observing the serene profile of the old man.


    "It doesn''t matter. I already performed this conversation once with him when he was barely a novice in the shamonak. What''s truly significant is that you are here," affirmed Vixkard, throwing another fragment of dry wood into the fire, which crackled intensely.


    "What exactly are we going to do?" inquired Thamuz, with respect and curiosity in his voice.


    Vixkard slowly stood up, shaking the dust that had adhered to his clothing. With a measured gesture, he indicated to Thamuz that he should also rise.


    "Tell me, young Thamuz, what have you thought of my training methods?" asked Vixkard.


    Thamuz noticed that Vixkard was directing his words toward the left side, when in reality he was to the right of the old man. With gentleness, Thamuz approached and softly placed his hand on Vixkard''s shoulder, respectfully turning him so that the blind old master could orient himself correctly toward him.


    "I have found them extremely demanding, but at the same time they have helped me to clearly identify what my deficiencies were," confessed Thamuz, turning his body to face the heat of the bonfire again. "Thanks to that, I am learning to gradually eliminate those shortcomings."


    "Yes, like that time when you almost threw a tantrum because you couldn''t break the bonkam," recalled Vixkard, bringing a hand to his chin with a thoughtful gesture. "I may be blind, but I am able to perceive people''s emotions with remarkable precision."


    "I see," murmured Thamuz, observing the weathered features of his master from the corner of his eye. "How did you lose your sight?"


    Vixkard turned his head slightly, as if the prominent scar that crossed his eyes were a window through which he could contemplate his disciple.


    "It''s a long story," said Vixkard, putting his hands in his pockets. "Have I ever told you about my wife?"


    Thamuz was startled to hear Vixkard mention his spouse. Although he already knew the story from his father, he yearned to hear it directly from the one who had lived it firsthand.


    "No, I''ve never heard or been told about your wife," he lied, with a tinge of shame that filtered through his voice.


    Vixkard sat down slowly on the ground, his forehead beaded with sweat due to the heat of the bonfire. Thamuz imitated his gesture, drawing up his legs to shield himself from the night cold that contrasted with the heat of the fire.


    "Before time ravaged my body, I was the most powerful shamonak fighter on this planet," began Vixkard. "I made mountains tremble with my blows and my muscles constituted an impenetrable fortress, but..." ¡ªhe made a significant pause¡ª "my iron character was pierced by something as simple yet powerful as love."


    "I suppose that love was your wife, wasn''t it?" inquired Thamuz, leaning slightly toward the old man.


    "Yes, completely. Our gazes crossed during an exceptional combat," confirmed Vixkard, supporting his arms behind him to touch the ground and inclining his head toward the starry firmament. "It was the second most challenging confrontation of my entire life. It involved fighting against a subordinate of a world conqueror, Atlas was the conqueror''s name, as I recall. That adversary used an extraordinarily singular combat technique; he moved his hands as if they were waves and remained motionless in his position. I would approach to hit him, but invariably he would throw me to one side or knock me down, as if he possessed supernatural powers."


    "My father told me about that confrontation," commented Thamuz. "But if you say that was your second most difficult combat... what was the first?"


    Vixkard listened attentively to his words and threw more wood onto the fire, fanning the flame until it grew imposing before them.


    "The greatest combat of my existence has been fighting against the loss of my wife, my beloved Ellie Benavides," confessed Vixkard with a tone imbued with melancholy. "She was as beautiful as the resplendent flowers of the twin mountains. Her character was as sweet as wedding celebration cake, but above all, her love for me represented the most valuable thing I had known in this world."


    There was an eloquent pause after Vixkard''s last words. Silence enveloped the atmosphere until the old man decided to resume his tale:


    "Sometimes I believed I had died to awaken in the afterlife, with a woman like her being the reward after a life devoted to fighting and violence. But it rejoices me to know that all those experiences were authentic," he made another prolonged pause. "Until a mysterious illness took her from my side. Each day she grew worse; she weakened and strength gradually abandoned her, but the smile never disappeared from her face. Even after her departure, she died in her bed, holding a photograph where we appeared together, in the place where we met for the first time."


    Thamuz opened his eyes immensely upon hearing the mention of the photograph, recognizing that it was probably the same one he had glimpsed in Vixkard''s room days before.


    "I think I''ve seen that photograph," he commented cautiously. "Just when I was walking through the corridors on my way to the training yard."


    With the mere mention of the image by Thamuz, a faint smile appeared on Vixkard''s face, who turned his head to face his disciple.


    "She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman, don''t you think?" he asked with nostalgia.


    "Yes, I have seen few women in my life, but she appeared to be the most beautiful I have ever seen, without detracting from my mother, of course," Thamuz pointed out, with a hint of irony when referring to his mother.


    Vixkard laughed softly at that comment, lightening the mood. The weight of the story seemed to gradually vanish from Thamuz''s mind.


    "Tawnylon inherited from me that predilection for that type of women: petite and with an aura of innocence around them, but who would not hesitate for an instant to protect what they treasure most," explained Vixkard, contemplating how the fire slowly consumed itself. "Because the most precious thing for her, besides me, was our daughter, who had been born just a few months before the illness took her mother."


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    "What is she like?" asked Thamuz with genuine innocence.


    "Why do you ask? Are you interested?" responded Vixkard with a mocking tone.


    Thamuz blushed slightly, letting out a nervous laugh while crossing his arms defensively.


    "It''s simple curiosity, old man. I don''t think I''m ready for a relationship yet," he responded, looking sideways at his mentor.


    "You''re right. Besides, she is too old for you, she''s approximately one hundred and fifty years old," explained Vixkard, raising one finger on his left hand and five on his right to gesturally represent the number.


    "Definitely too old for me," commented Thamuz with a resigned sigh. "By the way, where is she now?"


    "She is outside the cities, very far away, to be exact, she is in another city, the city of Yumekan. When my wife died, I retired from combat and all the metropolis''s problems to dedicate myself exclusively to caring for her, away from malevolent people who intended to harm me," explained Vixkard, running a hand through his gray hair. "It was the best decision I could have made. Now she is happy; she married a shamonak fighter with a noble heart, loving. They have given me several grandchildren whom I have instructed, not in such a rigorous way as I do with you, but rather to introduce them to the world of this extraordinary form of combat."


    "Then, it must have been an extraordinary experience to be able to care for your daughter, something so small and vulnerable that required all your attention," commented Thamuz, with genuine interest.


    "Yes, but don''t think everything was simple for me," confessed Vixkard, drawing his legs toward his chest. "I still harbored a growing anger inside me. I struck with all my strength Bonkam pillars much more imposing than those you have contemplated in your life. I had faced ferocious beasts, I had even participated indirectly in various wars waged between kingdoms. I didn''t align myself with any side, I simply charged against any obstacle that stood in my way, until one day, something took away my gift of sight."


    "What happened?" asked Thamuz, with intensified curiosity.


    "Two hundred years ago, when King Khumulak and the sovereign of Yumekan, whose name was Domerin Adaptus, unleashed a bloody battle between their domains, they employed shamonak fighters everywhere, of great caliber and power. Even the most outstanding soldiers of both kingdoms, with their swords and sharp weapons, could not rival them. It was a balanced confrontation, but King Domerin was gradually losing ground. Your father was a fundamental pillar in that conflict, but, in a desperate act, Domerin resorted to using wild beasts," Vixkard threw a fragment of dry wood into the fire, watching how the flames devoured it voraciously. "Just as you see the wood succumb to the fire, so were the hosts of King Khumulak gradually subdued. The wild creatures that Domerin had summoned were beings that could hardly be considered native to this planet. They were called Krugerons, beasts that reached ten meters in height and five in width. They stood on two extremities and their claws... by Azhamat, their claws were like perfect blade lances. They could discharge a swipe and send twenty soldiers flying with them. Not even the shamonak fighters could inflict damage on them, as their skin was protected by practically impenetrable scales."


    "They seemed invincible adversaries," reflected Thamuz, thoughtfully resting a hand on his chin. "But if the city still stands, then it means they managed to devise some strategy to contain them."


    "Indeed. It cost the lives of numerous soldiers and shamonak fighters, but we discovered that high temperatures could weaken the scales of these creatures, making them so malleable that they could be pierced by swords and the impacts of fighters. However, King Khumulak''s troops were severely depleted; the numbers had considerably decreased and barely a couple of thousand remained. So your father decided to approach me to request my aid. They were completely desperate," continued Vixkard. "Initially I refused for various reasons, perhaps because I refused to directly involve myself in such conflicts or simply out of obstinacy. But your father helped me understand that it could constitute a magnificent opportunity to channel all that anger that nested inside me, to finally free myself from it."


    "What strategy did they conceive with you integrated into their ranks?" inquired Thamuz, leaning forward with expectation.


    Vixkard slowly raised his arm and pointed toward the other side of a mountain, where a colossal rock formation with a cavity in its interior could be glimpsed.


    "Do you see that giant mountain with a hole inside it? That''s called a volcano. Inside it harbors various rock formations and a lethal substance known as magma, similar to water, but with the capacity to incinerate everything," explained Vixkard as he lowered his arm and clenched his fist tightly. "The plan consisted of me remaining inside the volcano, thanks to my body being able to resist those extreme temperatures, while the soldiers and shamonak fighters of King Khumulak lured the krugerons inside. The screams and the sound of flesh being torn that I heard were indescribable. I even wanted to abandon everything and leave, but I had made a promise to your father and was determined to fulfill it. So I stood firm and watched them descending from the top of the volcano''s mouth. They came one after another, those krugerons, authentic nightmares incarnate that pounced on me as soon as they spotted me. In the first encounter, I limited myself to dodging their attacks; I was unaware if the volcanic heat affected them, until several minutes passed and I decided to test our theory."


    "Did it work?" interrupted Thamuz, unable to contain his impatience.


    "Of course it did. It worked extraordinarily well. I delivered the first blow and the scales detached like water from one of them. I immediately understood that they were already weakened, so I unleashed all my fury against them. At first they came one by one, then two by two, later three by three, up to groups of five, but invariably they succumbed to my onslaughts, carbonizing from the heat and vanishing into the air. Until I heard a thunderous roar. From the summit emerged the most enormous krugeron I had ever contemplated. It tripled the size of average specimens; its skin exhibited a crimson reddish hue and its scales possessed a distinctive color: immaculate white. It charged against me and we fought with unusual ferocity. I felt as if my soul was detaching from my body, convinced that each instant could be the last. Finally, I managed to perforate its chest with the most devastating palm strike I have executed in my entire existence. However, the krugeron managed to deliver a final blow, directly to my eyes. But before sinking into total blindness, I was able to observe how its body disintegrated due to the heat, leaving me plunged into eternal darkness."


    "What happened afterward? If you''re still alive, they obviously rescued you," inquired Thamuz, absorbed in the story.


    "Indeed. I only remember that multiple hands transported me and later I woke up in what I perceived to be a bed. I couldn''t visualize anything, only absolute blackness. I startled instantly, but fatigue and injuries inflicted by those creatures prevented me from moving. I heard your father''s voice informing me that King Domerin''s hosts had been completely annihilated, offering their capitulation in exchange for ceasing hostilities. Your father left after verifying my stability, but when I was about to succumb to sleep, I perceived a voice," Vixkard adjusted his garments and extended his hands toward the dying fire. "It was a melodious voice, so sweet that it could cause me cardiac shock. The voice of a woman whose identity I never knew. Every time I addressed her, she responded naturally. I longed for our conversation to be prolonged eternally, but exhaustion overcame me and my eyelids closed inexorably, while I felt how my body began to surrender. The person behind that angelic voice seemed to also abandon the room, but not before pronouncing words that radically transformed my perspective."


    "What were those words, if it doesn''t bother you to share them?" asked Thamuz, with curiosity and caution, fearful of disturbing his mentor.


    "Learn everything, live everything, and enjoy everything. Don''t be an ignorant who believes his world revolves exclusively around a single thing," recited Vixkard, each word impregnated with profound nostalgia. "I trust that these teachings may also prove valuable to you, young Thamuz."


    They were seemingly simple phrases that perhaps couldn''t be immediately understood by Thamuz, but he treasured them in his memory for constituting an invaluable advice from his master, which had served him at a crucial moment of his existence. The young man sketched a smile and exhaled slightly.


    "I greatly value those words, master. However, I have a doubt," manifested Thamuz. "Why did you return to the city if you enjoyed a full life alongside your daughter? You could have remained there and delighted in the presence of your grandchildren, instructed them, and contemplated them developing as formidable shamonak fighters. Why move here to train me without major complications? We didn''t even have a formal introduction; I burst in destroying your wall and woke up in deplorable conditions. Is it simply a matter of destiny or is there an underlying motivation?"


    Vixkard kept his gaze fixed on the fire until he turned his face toward Thamuz, dedicating a slight smile to him before getting up and heading toward the interior of the dwelling.


    "That obeys a promise I made to myself a long time ago and, although my life has experienced transformations, the commitment remains unalterable. I won''t reveal it to you for now, but the moment will come when you will understand the nature of that promise," he pronounced while firmly resting his hand on Thamuz''s shoulder, releasing it afterward to ascend the steps toward his abode. "I suggest you rest for today, young Thamuz. Feed yourself adequately and do what you consider opportune. Tomorrow we will resume the exercises I have taught you to exhaustion, until a new challenge arises for you."


    With these last words, the bonfire extinguished completely.

 Chapter 50: you know i cant

    The training days passed with surprising swiftness, similar to the time it takes to conceive a fleeting thought¡ªperhaps a cherished family memory, an imaginary scenario, or maybe the reminiscence of a promise made years ago.


    Exactly two weeks had passed since Thamuz had fully immersed himself in the rigorous repetition of Vixkard''s training methods. During this period, he counted on the invaluable assistance of his father to perfect his defense against the whip, significantly reducing the impact of the blows through meticulous muscle control. Simultaneously, he trained to refine this defensive technique against sound stimuli, trying to get his body to adapt to receiving and dissipating damage passively.


    The imposing bonkam stones that Tawnylon provided were reduced to mere rubble before the special blow that Thamuz had perfected. His method consisted first of attacking the rock in a conventional way to condition his hands, to later finish with a precise impact that caused disintegration from within the stone.


    As part of his routine, he participated in friendly combats with his progenitor, where he repeated techniques and elaborated strategies to incorporate them into his particular fighting style. Occasionally, these confrontations escalated to such an extent that Vixkard was forced to intervene to separate father and son.


    However, right at the beginning of the third week, a messenger sent by Armesto arrived at Vixkard''s residence. The emissary carried a message of capital importance inscribed on a leather parchment.


    The persistent knocks of the messenger resonated from outside, while Thamuz and the others savored their food in the yard area. Vixkard perceived the sound and rose slowly, placing his plate on the ground before heading towards the entrance. Upon opening the door, he caught a peculiar fragrance: the characteristic aroma of someone who had undertaken a long journey with the sole purpose of reaching an assigned destination.


    "Are you a messenger, boy?" inquired Vixkard, trying to configure in his mind the silhouette of the newcomer.


    "Indeed, I bring a message for Mr. Tawnylon. I was directed exactly to this address," responded the young man, extending the parchment toward Vixkard. "Are you a relative of said gentleman?"


    "No, I am simply his mentor, but he is currently under my roof," explained Vixkard, extending his hand to receive the document. "I will take care of delivering it to him. Go replenish your strength, young man; it is evident that you have traveled a long way."


    The messenger nodded and turned on his heels, vanishing among the narrow streets of the vast city. Vixkard returned inside and closed the door behind him, holding the parchment firmly while trying to mentally visualize its possible content. His fingertips explored the rough surface of the material, detecting that it was not ordinary leather but Yhamak skin, his own skin.


    "I already know who this message is from," Vixkard declared firmly, heading toward where Thamuz and Tawnylon were resting.


    Thamuz laughed carelessly while savoring his food, as did his father. Both enjoyed the succulent meat of a formidable beast they had hunted together during their last expedition. That same creature had dealt a swipe across Thamuz''s back due to his momentary distraction, but fortunately the wound had not been serious and was gradually healing thanks to the bandamenas water that Vixkard had offered him upon returning from the hunt.


    The two interrupted their feast when they noticed Vixkard settling beside them. His face reflected an expression of absolute seriousness as he raised his gaze, wordlessly communicating to Tawnylon and Thamuz that this was a matter of utmost importance.


    "Young Thamuz, I believe this parchment is specifically addressed to you," Vixkard announced with a solemn voice, placing the parchment in the center of the gathering as if it were a sentence.


    Tawnylon and Thamuz exchanged looks of bewilderment at the sudden gravity in Vixkard''s behavior. However, upon examining the parchment more carefully, they immediately understood its true nature.


    "It took quite some time to arrive," commented Vixkard to himself, careful that the others didn''t hear.


    With measured movements, Tawnylon unrolled the parchment, meticulously examining its contents. A small note detached from the document, falling gently to the ground. He picked it up hastily and discovered it had been written by Armesto. The message was forceful: "I''m sorry for not being able to find any information about this. Zarakel was really extremely careful in hiding the identity of Thamuz''s next opponent."


    With this revelation, Tawnylon immediately confirmed the content of the parchment. With a resonant voice to ensure his son heard every word, he proclaimed:


    "By royal decree of the Eternal King Zarakel, tomorrow the activities of shamonak to death tournament will resume. Thamuz must face an opponent of mysterious character during the course of the day following the reception of this message."


    A sepulchral silence invaded the atmosphere. Thamuz abruptly raised his head upon hearing the mention of his name and the imminent resumption of the deadly shamonak combats.


    Vixkard, for his part, remained impassive, as if those words had not altered his composure in the slightest.


    "It seems we will have to leave today," declared Tawnylon while rolling up the parchment again with precise movements.


    "Yes, it seems so," replied Thamuz with a tone laden with melancholy, his thoughts visibly distant from the present.


    "Zarakel took too much time organizing this encounter," observed Vixkard thoughtfully, stroking his chin with a reflective gesture. "With all certainty it will be an extremely powerful adversary, someone whose identity he does not wish to reveal for fear that crucial information about their abilities might be obtained."


    "In that case," added Tawnylon with renewed determination in his gaze, "we have prepared Thamuz to face any opponent and emerge victorious. All these days of arduous training will finally be put to the test."


    But he was surprised by Vixkard''s sudden approach, who moved stealthily to his ear, whispering just two words that remained inaudible to Thamuz. Those words, however, awakened a deep concern in Tawnylon, whose face transformed into a grimace of evident hopelessness.


    When Vixkard finally stepped away, Tawnylon rose slowly while Thamuz observed him bewildered. His father turned to him with a forced smile that attempted to hide his worry.


    "Son, do you know how to get home on your own?" he asked with a deliberately gentle tone.


    "Yes, I just need to take a carriage and indicate the direction to Armesto''s house. Why do you ask?" inquired Thamuz, without disguising his confusion.


    "Vixkard has invited me to spend time at an establishment we used to frequent in my youth, so I will arrive late at night," explained Tawnylon, resting his hand on Thamuz''s shoulder with a paternal gesture. "Besides, you must head to Armesto''s mansion to properly prepare for tomorrow''s combat. You will need to rest and reflect on the possible characteristics of your opponent."


    Tawnylon''s explanation was convincing for Thamuz, who simply nodded and headed to his room to prepare for his departure. Meanwhile, Tawnylon remained motionless, observing Vixkard sideways, who maintained himself rigid like an ancestral statue. The empty sockets where his eyes once were seemed unfathomable abysses, capable of devouring light itself.


    Moments later, Thamuz emerged from the house, carrying a voluminous leather bag over his right shoulder while an elegant black coat completely enveloped his sturdy torso.


    "I''m ready to depart, father," announced Thamuz with determination. "I''ve also packed your clothes, since you mentioned you would arrive later."


    "That''s fine, son. I''ll accompany you to where the carriages await," responded Tawnylon, positioning himself beside Thamuz. "After that, you will continue on your own. By the way, say goodbye to Vixkard."


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    Thamuz nodded obediently and approached his master, who remained motionless as if he had been carved from ancient stone. His gaze seemed fixed on a point in the void, gradually becoming aware of Thamuz''s presence only by the heat emanating from his body. Slowly, he turned his head to face him.


    "So, young Thamuz, has the moment finally arrived to resume your combats?" asked Vixkard with a slight laugh. "If so, I wish you a good journey. I hope to witness that long-awaited confrontation very closely."


    The last phrase was pronounced with a sarcastic laugh, characteristic of Vixkard, who habitually used his blindness as the target of his own jokes.


    "Yes, the time has come to depart," responded Thamuz, bending slightly to be at the level of his master''s face. "I deeply thank you for hosting us and sharing all your knowledge. I will always remember you with great affection."


    With these words, Thamuz extended his hand to shake that of his mentor, but Vixkard, instead of responding to the gesture, raised his fist, closing it firmly.


    "This is how we greeted each other in my time; shaking hands has never been completely to my liking," commented Vixkard with a bit of nostalgia.


    Thamuz immediately understood his master''s intention and closed his own fist, bumping it against Vixkard''s. Then he slowly straightened up and looked at his father with determination.


    "Well, it''s time for me to leave, father," declared Thamuz with a firm voice.


    Tawnylon nodded and began to walk alongside his son, casting a fleeting glance at Vixkard, who returned that look with the same icy intensity he had shown before. It was evident that both harbored numerous secrets they wished to share at that moment.


    Both left the house and traversed the bustling streets crowded with people busy with their daily tasks or simply strolling to clear their minds. Some seemed to have received news about the resumption of the shamonak tournament, as they animatedly murmured about who might be the next contender.


    Finally, Thamuz and Tawnylon arrived at the place where the carriage drivers rested. They were seated on rustic wooden chairs or leaning against the walls, tasting pieces of dried meat they extracted from their leather bags. Meanwhile, their imposing beasts of burden fed from enormous bowls overflowing with food, a necessity derived from their extraordinary speed and their colossal muscle mass, which required an abundant consumption of proteins to maintain their strength and constitution.


    Among the multitude of drivers, Tawnylon recognized an old acquaintance: Tarik. They had met in his youth, when Tarik was just starting in the transport profession and Tawnylon used his services to reach his first official shamonak combats. During those journeys, they used to converse and exchange daily experiences, gradually forging a friendship that extended to various food and drink establishments where they deepened their relationship.


    "Tarik!" Tawnylon''s powerful voice resonated in the environment. "Old friend!"


    Tarik was smoking a small aromatic leaf that he had discovered during his various travels. Upon hearing his name, he immediately raised his gaze and, recognizing Tawnylon, his face lit up with genuine joy.


    "Tawnylon, old comrade!" exclaimed Tarik, advancing toward him with extended arms. "How long it''s been since I''ve seen you!"


    Both merged in a fraternal embrace so vigorous that it seemed to make the ground beneath their feet tremble. Upon separating, they exchanged affectionate pats on the back, as their old custom dictated.


    "Tell me, what has brought you back to the city?" asked Tarik while extracting another leaf from his pocket to light it with parsimony.


    "Do you remember Zarakel? Surely you do. We trained together under the tutelage of master Vixkard. Well, now that he wears the crown, he has believed himself entitled to burst into our settlement to intimidate us. He has even forced us to participate in a tournament, designating my son as our representative," explained Tawnylon while pointing to Thamuz with a proud gesture.


    Tarik diverted his gaze to where his friend was indicating and contemplated the imposing figure of Thamuz. His initial surprise manifested in a slight start, impressed by the peculiar appearance and the extraordinary height of the young man.


    "Greetings, sir," pronounced Thamuz with his characteristic deep voice.


    "Hello, son of Tawnylon," responded Tarik, visibly intimidated by his presence. "There certainly is a resemblance to you, although... does he suffer from some condition of the skin?"


    "No, he has been this way since birth. He may seem different from us, but I assure you he is like anyone else," explained Tawnylon, sketching an amused smile at the evident confusion of his friend.


    "If you say so, it''s fine. It''s simply my first time observing someone with such characteristics. It''s truly amazing to witness something new," commented Tarik, trying to regain his composure. "Anyway, how can I serve you?"


    "I wanted to ask you the favor of transporting my son to Armesto''s residence," requested Tawnylon, pointing toward the east where a majestic mansion stood on a distant hill. "It''s that one visible on that elevation."


    "Yes, I know it perfectly. Occasionally I have made journeys there, and Armesto himself has invited me to share his table and enjoy his hospitality," explained Tarik. "In that case, it would be two green pamtan for both."


    "I will not accompany you; only my son will make the journey," clarified Tawnylon. "I will remain in the city until nightfall."


    "Understood. If that''s the case, we will depart immediately," announced Tarik, heading toward his carriage with determined steps.


    Before Thamuz could follow Tarik, Tawnylon detained him by firmly gripping his arm.


    "Stay alert during the journey, son. When you arrive at Armesto''s residence, inform your mother that I will remain in the city for a few hours so she doesn''t worry about me. Therefore..." Tawnylon drew Thamuz closer to himself and enveloped him in a strong embrace. "Never forget how much I love you, no matter what may happen."


    These words were unusually emotional for Thamuz. His father, although affectionate and kind at times, rarely manifested his feelings with such intensity. Physical demonstrations of affection had been scarce since his early childhood, limited mainly to when Tawnylon had to carry him as a baby or during his first months of life. However, he did not give it greater relevance, interpreting it simply as a spontaneous gesture of paternal affection.


    Tawnylon gradually loosened his embrace and with a gesture indicated to Thamuz that he should proceed on his way. He raised his hand in a sign of farewell while watching how Tarik and his son moved away in the carriage until becoming a tiny point on the horizon.


    Exhaling a slight sigh, Tawnylon raised his gaze toward the firmament. The sunlight, tinted with an intense blue, announced the proximity of twilight. Time seemed to pass swiftly with each step he took back to the house. Occasionally, he chose to traverse narrow alleys or visit places he had frequented in the past, all with the purpose of consuming time while trying to formulate a response to the unknown that disturbed his mind: those enigmatic words whispered by Vixkard.


    The endless walk was beginning to annoy him, while anxiety gradually increased within him. He could no longer retract and simply return to his home, burying that doubt. He was obligated to go to the agreed place with Vixkard, whether by his own determination or as a means to help those who would face coming challenges.


    Organizing his thoughts, Tawnylon headed toward the liquor establishment where he had agreed to meet Vixkard. He traversed sinuous alleys, involuntarily causing the startlement of some citizens who casually crossed paths with his imposing figure.


    Finally, he spotted a sign illuminated by torches placed on both sides, revealing the nature of the place: a tavern of modest dimensions but spacious, so ancient that it had been inherited through four generations. Considering that male yhamak could live between two hundred and three hundred years under favorable conditions, it was possible to imagine the venerable antiquity of the establishment.


    Tawnylon contemplated the sign with bright eyes, feeling a cold sweat that was not caused by the heat, but by the vision of who was inside: Vixkard, seated on a wooden bench while holding a bowl with his right hand and what appeared to be a document with his left.


    Meanwhile, Vixkard took a measured sip from his bowl, savoring with delight and making subtle movements with his mouth to capture all the nuances of the beverage. His senses, sharpened by the absence of vision, perceived the approach of heavy footsteps and the imposing presence that settled beside him, emanating an extraordinary heat.


    "I suppose you must be Tawnylon, right?" inquired Vixkard, maintaining his face oriented toward the front, as if contemplating an invisible horizon.


    "Yes, it''s me, Vixkard..." Tawnylon''s words flowed laden with resentment, as if each syllable were impregnated with poison.


    "You have delayed considerably," commented Vixkard, bringing the bowl again to his lips to taste another sip. "Come, order whatever you wish, it''s on me."


    Tawnylon observed him sideways, with a mixture of contempt and indignation in his gaze, before fixing his attention to the front again.


    "You know perfectly well that I am immune to the effects of those drinks, so you will not manage to cloud my judgment during our conversation," declared Tawnylon with a deep and severe voice.


    "Certainly, you cannot become inebriated, but I can..." the last word escaped from Vixkard''s lips almost like a heart-rending lament.


    "Start talking, old man. Every instant I remain here is valuable time I lose to adequately prepare Thamuz," protested Tawnylon, grinding his teeth with evident frustration.


    "What matter do you wish to discuss? I imagined we would simply enjoy a pleasant moment between a master and his former disciple," responded Vixkard, attempting to elude the true purpose of the meeting.


    "Don''t play dumb, damn old man! You know perfectly well the reason! I''m referring to those two words you whispered in my ear and that have been devouring my mind incessantly!" exclaimed Tawnylon with such vehemence that the others present in the establishment were startled.


    "Ah, yes, of course, those two words. Perhaps you refer to..." there was a brief but tense pause before Vixkard completely turned his head to expose his empty eye sockets, deep as unfathomable abysses, directly toward Tawnylon, "my promise?"


    "Exactly, that promise, old man," confirmed Tawnylon, gradually regaining his composure.


    "Ah, certainly, my promise," murmured Vixkard, returning his attention to the bowl he held between his weathered hands. "The promise that I would only return to this city if I managed to find an exceptionally powerful adversary... who would take my life in a shamonak combat."

 Chapter 51: the strongest

    Vixkard''s words ascended to Tawnylon''s ears, who contemplated with indignation and helplessness such a simple but devastating revelation. He felt tears struggling to escape from his eyes, but firmly repressed that feeling, adjusting himself in his seat while crossing his arms and looking away to one side, trying to lose himself in the contemplation of a nearby wall.


    "Damned old man, as arrogant as ever," Tawnylon pronounced, with trembling lips that barely managed to articulate each word. "I suspected it since Thamuz informed me of your presence in the city, although I harbored hope that you had changed, that you had forgotten that promise and buried it in the deepest recesses of your heart."


    Vixkard took a long sip from the bowl, completely consuming the contents, and delicately placed the empty container on the railing in front of him. His fingers gently traveled over the rough but consistent surface that served as his support.


    "Serve me another portion of midnight liquor," Vixkard ordered with a measured voice. "This conversation will be considerably prolonged."


    The bartender observed both characters attentively, perceiving in them two markedly contrasting images. To his right was a giant who had forged history in previous times; he knew both well. Tawnylon, former champion of the shamonak fights, a proud warrior who now seemed lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, trying to convince himself that everything was a simple misunderstanding. To his left was Vixkard, whom the bartender had known when his father left him the business that now constituted his livelihood. In the old man, he perceived a detached attitude, emanating an energy that felt enormously superior compared to that of the giant sitting beside him.


    With a slight nod, the bartender took a bottle containing a liquid of an intense bright blue, inside which tiny pink worms seemed to slide, creating a fascinating chromatic contrast. He poured a generous amount into Vixkard''s bowl, who thanked him for the gesture and again savored his drink.


    "I suppose you understand perfectly well whom I''m referring to when I mention my desire to face an exceptionally powerful opponent who can give me death in a shamonak combat," Vixkard declared, after emptying his bowl again. "Your son has awakened my interest like no one had managed before, surpassing even Korro, who already possessed extraordinary potential that I could have cultivated for months or years to fulfill my promise. However, Thamuz has shown tremendous growth under my teachings. Furthermore, a new shamonak combat has been announced in which I will participate; I will be precisely that mysterious opponent that has been promoted since the announcement."


    Tawnylon shot an oblique glance at Vixkard, deeply disgusted by his serene and unconcerned tone in the face of such a revelation. He exhaled a barely perceptible sigh while closing his eyes with heaviness.


    "If that''s the case, then that damned Zarakel must have tempted you with some irresistible offer. I never expected such behavior from you," Tawnylon commented, silently cursing his master in the depths of his mind. "What exactly did he offer you? Riches, delicacies, properties, territories? Tell me, so I can evaluate if all those trifles justify sacrificing your legacy and your entire life."


    Vixkard brought the bowl to his lips again, this time with an almost desperate fervor. He drained the alcoholic drink to the last drop and, with the tip of his finger, gently tapped the surface of the railing, indicating his desire for another round.


    "He offered me something I could never deny. Besides a formidable opponent, he promised me something that was impossible to reject," Vixkard made a deliberate pause, turning his head slightly to observe his pupil with intensity. "That promise was Harmonia''s safety. Do you remember her?"


    Tawnylon appeared bewildered at the mention of that name. His eyes reflected confusion as he searched the corners of his memory for some reference, until an almost forgotten memory emerged from the depths of his mind, illuminating his face with sudden understanding.


    "Isn''t she..." Tawnylon also paused, carefully processing what he was about to say. "Your daughter?"


    The bartender, who had been delaying serving the alcoholic drink, completely absorbed in the story unfolding before him, spilled some of the amber liquid outside the wooden bowl, drawing the penetrating gazes of both customers upon himself.


    "Sorry, it wasn''t my intention," the bartender apologized with a trembling voice, bowing his head in respect before hurriedly withdrawing.


    "Yes, it''s her," confirmed Vixkard, making sure that the bartender had completely moved away. "There was no way to know if there would finally be worthy opponents in the city. As you well know, we lived very far away, almost at the confines of this world, but a messenger from Zarakel managed to find us nonetheless."


    Vixkard interlaced his fingers on the table before continuing.


    "He came accompanied by several soldiers and Shamonak fighters with heavy armor. They looked nothing like us; they were more like abominations, creatures transformed by some dark power. At first they explained to me that they required my help for a very special case: there was a fighter, your son, who was completely humiliating the participants of a tournament. Initially I refused, as I considered it was not something in which I should invest my time..."


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    Vixkard left the words suspended in the air and directed his attention to the bowl overflowing with alcoholic drink. He grabbed it with both hands weathered by countless battles and drank it as if it were soup, sipping until the last drop before wiping his mouth with his forearm.


    "And then, what happened next?" asked Tawnylon, intrigued by that sudden pause.


    "Then..." Vixkard let out a small burp, as the alcohol began to take effect in his system. "The messengers interpreted it as defiance and surely informed that ill-born Zarakel. I always distrusted him. After several days of tension, many more soldiers returned, this time accompanied by gigantic beasts and carrying weapons that I had only seen once in my existence: when I had to face the emissary of that planet conqueror, Atlas, that was his name."


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    His eyes darkened at the memory.


    "Zarakel''s soldiers coldly warned me that if I did not agree to meet with their lord, they would massacre my entire family. Neither I nor my son-in-law could defeat them all, powerful as we were. So, against my will, I agreed to their requests and now I find myself here, with the intention of protecting my daughter and also, fulfilling that promise I had made when I was lost in life," explained Vixkard, each word spoken slowly as if he were dazed.


    "If that''s the case, I can help you. I can travel right now to where your daughter is and protect her, but anything except having to fulfill that promise. Please, I cannot let you die like this," protested Tawnylon, clenching his fists so tightly that his palms began to bleed.


    "No, it would not be possible," Vixkard denied with a tired voice. "The combat is already tomorrow and it would take you more than two days to reach where my daughter is, even in the best carriage. Besides, the weapons I have mentioned are to be feared," he continued, absentmindedly playing with the empty bowl. "I have secretly seen how they used them to easily eliminate beasts that surpass you in strength and ferocity. They looked like spears, but their tips glowed with an unnatural brightness and when they made contact with flesh, they voraciously burned it, carbonizing not only the point of impact but also the surrounding skin. That would surely kill you in a very slow and painful way."


    Tawnylon, upon hearing the few options that remained, desperately grabbed a bottle of midnight liquor, drinking it all in one go. He wiped his mouth and stuck out his tongue, shuddering from the intensely bitter taste that burned his throat.


    "Then, fight with me, master," he exclaimed with renewed determination. "Let''s do it right now. Let''s go to an open field and fight to the death in that place. I am capable of fulfilling your promise, I am strong enough to satisfy your expectations," protested Tawnylon, trying to change Vixkard''s opinion with growing desperation. "But please, don''t make my son have to go through that. I beg you, please, with all my soul, please, don''t do it."


    Each word and plea emanated a palpable desperation, but Vixkard seemed to be immersed in his thoughts, setting the bowl aside and crossing his arms over the railing with a pensive air.


    "If that''s the case, then I wouldn''t move during that combat," he finally responded. "I would stand still receiving the blows and every mortal movement. I would not consider my promise fulfilled; you would simply be like an executioner and I an innocent person. That would be a great weight on your conscience," his voice became deeper. "Imagine how you killed your mentor, someone who was like your father, while he did not defend himself, while if he had eyes, he would stare directly into yours as you destroy his body with each blow you deliver," this time, the words were firm and cutting like the edge of an ancient sword. "Instead, if I do it against your son, it will be the greatest happiness I can feel at this age. I have lived long enough, Tawnylon. I am giving my last energies to that boy. I hope that during combat he can exceed my expectations. If so, I will finally be able to reunite with my dear Ellie, as my affairs on this planet will be finished when my heart stops beating in a shamonak combat arena."


    Tawnylon looked at Vixkard in a lost way, at his master, at one of his father figures who had taken him in when he was just a young man astray with a desire for vengeance burning inside him. He knew that Vixkard was a man who always kept his promises, but he wanted to try with all his might, perhaps, to make him change his mind, because he could not force him to retract from that, although he wished it in the depths of his heart.


    "Could you not forget that promise..." there was a pause that felt like a millennium while Vixkard remained attentive to what his former student wanted to say. "for me?"


    Vixkard raised his head upon hearing Tawnylon''s last attempt to make him change, turning his face to confront him directly. This time he wasn''t trying to avoid his gaze nor the eyes that were wanting to strike him for his irrevocable decisions, but rather the empty eye sockets of the old warrior looked firmly at the impatient eyes of the giant.


    "Even if I did," Vixkard responded with a tired voice, before turning his gaze back to the front, "my daughter''s life would still be at risk. To ensure it, I must stop your son in combat. It''s something that destiny has been planning for a long time."


    Seeing that Vixkard was not going to change his purpose for any reason, Tawnylon remained motionless in his seat for a long time, until he finally rose slowly, emanating a heat that was perceived as the physical manifestation of his contained fury.


    "If that''s how things are going to be," he pronounced with a tense voice, before directing his penetrating gaze towards Vixkard. "I will go to Thamuz and prepare him before tomorrow''s combat. I won''t tell him anything because surely he won''t want to accept the fight, but he must do it anyway, all this for a cause as selfish and deranged as yours."


    Vixkard fell backward, with cheeks lit up in a reddish color while babbling incoherently, alcohol finally dominating his system.


    "It will be a great battle, a great battle, a great battle," he continued repeating like a mantra. "Master against student, a giant against the most powerful."


    Tawnylon instinctively extended his hand to help him get up, seeing that the effect of alcohol was deeply affecting him, but the growing rage that boiled within him began to cloud his judgment. With a gesture of contempt, he hastily abandoned the establishment and walked through the vast streets of the city, losing himself among the crowd without any fixed direction in his mind, until his feet found what appeared to be the green and damp grass that marked the urban limits.


    Regaining some lucidity, he observed that he was almost on the outskirts, contemplating how a hill rose before him over which the crescent moon shone, blue like the firmament speckled with dying stars.


    Climbing the hill with increasingly slower steps until reaching the summit, Tawnylon contemplated the bright moon before his eyes, almost as if it were so close that he could touch it with his calloused fingers. He sat on the damp ground while raising his head to observe the sky, the stars, and finally, evoking in his mind the image of someone important.


    "Lady Ellie, I don''t know if you''re listening to me wherever you are," he whispered to the night wind, "but it seems that Vixkard has never forgotten that promise he made to himself when you died. Although the real reason he''s going to do this is for the good of his daughter, he just hides it under that promise to not feel weak and powerless compared to what he could have done when he was much younger and more powerful."


    Tawnylon paused and exhaled a deep sigh before continuing, his breath forming small clouds in the cold night air.


    "The most powerful..." he murmured with bitterness. "Now my son is involved in this. Vixkard has seen him as the perfect fighter to take his life. I just hope that during combat Thamuz knows how to knock him out, or at least that there''s something he can do to win without killing him."


    His voice broke slightly while the stars twinkled above him, silent witnesses to his affliction.


    "But in case Vixkard''s stubbornness and conviction lead him to fulfill his purpose... I just hope that you receive him with open arms."


    A solitary tear rolled down his cheek while the night wind caressed his face, carrying his words toward the infinite starry sky.